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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23163460">Fight or Flight</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedGrnBlu/pseuds/RedGrnBlu'>RedGrnBlu</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Bludhaven: City of Birds [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Batman - All Media Types, Nightwing (Comics), Titans (Comics)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Action/Adventure, Coming of Age, Dick Grayson is Nightwing, Double Life, Evolution, Gen, Light Angst, Mystery, Original Character(s), Romance, Self-Discovery, Self-Doubt</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 12:35:20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>37,963</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23163460</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedGrnBlu/pseuds/RedGrnBlu</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Dick Grayson had never had trouble being himself, until a bullet took away his memories. But almost a year after recovering from the amnesia that spawned 'Ric Grayson', Nightwing finds himself uncomfortable in his own skin. Confusing nightmares, false memories, and fraying relationships cause him to seek solace behind his mask. Dick's recently added protege, Hank Duncan AKA Kite, has retired his own mask. Hank is enjoying college, but feels unchallenged and unsatisfied in his new normal life.</p><p>While its heroes suffer internal turmoil, Bludhaven's Underworld is evolving.<br/>A new player is determined to strengthen the city through Natural Selection: Survival of the fittest.<br/>Can Dick and Hank protect the Blud from this culling of the weak? Or will the Birds of Bludhaven go extinct?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dick Grayson &amp; Alfred Pennyworth, Dick Grayson &amp; Colleen Edwards, Dick Grayson &amp; Original Character(s), Tim Drake &amp; Dick Grayson &amp; Jason Todd &amp; Bruce Wayne &amp; Damian Wayne</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Bludhaven: City of Birds [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1477568</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hello! Thanks for coming! I recommend reading the works that take place before this one, "Partners and Proteges" and "Summer Vacation", if you haven't already. </p><p>This work will continue exploring Nightwing's character after returning from Ric to Dick Grayson, as well as Nightwing's relationship with his very own student/partner, Hank Duncan. (Obviously Dick trained Damian Wayne's Robin, and also Rose Wilson in Devin Grayson's Nightwing book, but he trained them as Batman and Renegade, not using the Nightwing Persona.)</p><p>I'm excited for this story because I've put a lot more plan work into it, instead of just writing off the cuff. I've come up with some themes that are very interesting to me, personally, so hopefully all goes well when trying to explore them. On with the show!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>“What’re you doing here?”</span>
  </em>
  <span>  In his record-pace climb through the ranks of Orange Roses East, Ray Douglas had learned quickly that every word he spoke mattered. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Watch your mouth, Ray. They listen to it.”  </span>
  </em>
  <span>Tyshawn ‘T’ Hopkins had pulled Ray out from underneath T’s Silver Dodge Charger to look in his eyes when he delivered the unsolicited advice. When he became T’s driver, Ray kept his mouth shut unless he knew his words had some insight or value. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eventually, when caught between bumpers in Bludhaven traffic, T would catch Ray’s eyes in the mirror, and ask him to speak, to share his thoughts. It wasn’t long before T was asking Ray’s opinion more often, on almost any subject, from coke pricing to legal strategy before T would take the stand. Each time he was asked, Ray would think carefully before sharing. Half the time he found himself saying “I’m not sure, T.” In response, T would typically give a thoughtful nod, and return his gaze to his tinted window.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When T got canned, he asked Ray to take his place at the head of the ORE. Since then, Ray had mastered the art of communication. Each word was a piston or valve, every pause was a piston ring or cylinder, each part carefully affixed to the next to ensure that a car engine ran smoothly. He’d developed the ability to vary his tone, pitch, and volume to shift his ideas into the appropriate gear for the situation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So, upon hearing the question from the grating, smoke-damaged voice of Michael Casey, the leader of the Bludhaven Whalers, Ray did what he typically did. He folded his arms and thought, as his golden-brown eyes scanned his surroundings. 12 men stood behind Casey, no doubt concealing guns beneath their jackets. </span>
  <em>
    <span>They’re holding, we’re not.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Ray swore at himself for obeying the message’s request to come to the pier unarmed. It wasn’t technically in Whaler territory, but it was close. Too close, clearly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He couldn’t show weakness, or give any indication that his own brothers behind him weren’t armed. But appearances could only be so deceiving. As per the message, Ray had only brought five along with him for protection. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Six on thirteen.</span>
  </em>
  <span> A blur of motion in his peripherals caused Ray’s eye to snap to his right. A sleek black car—</span>
  <em>
    <span>Tesla, Model S</span>
  </em>
  <span>—had cruised closer to the two gangs from its parked position. The electric motor was silent, drowned out by the quiet lapping of waves beneath the pier.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey!” Casey took a step forward, interrupting Ray’s thoughts. “You deaf, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ray?</span>
  </em>
  <span> What are you doin’ on our turf?” Ray made only the subtlest change in posture, shifting slightly so he could more easily access the sidearm he wished he’d brought with him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right now? I’m thinking. About a few different things, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Mike</span>
  </em>
  <span>. One: The pier is neutral. It ain’t yours.” Ray held his gaze on the gray eyes of Michael Casey. “Two: You’re out here yourself, not back in your ‘office.’ Which means somebody told you to come here, just like me. And three: It’s a lil’ cliche for two gangs to run into each other like this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re absolutely right, Ray. Sorry I didn’t organize this meeting with much </span>
  <em>
    <span>nuance</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” An enormous, pale man, clad in a gray t-shirt despite the cold, mid-September breeze drifting off the water, had stepped out of the driver’s seat of the car. Ray instantly knew that the words hadn’t come from the pale man. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Just the driver.</span>
  </em>
  <span> The pale man stood still, the bare ivory scalp of his bald head reflecting moonlight, and a leaner figure stepped out from behind him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ray kept his face still, though he was surprised at the strange appearance of the man. “Who are you supposed to be?” Casey and his gang had all turned to the new face, covered in red, orange and black stripes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, relax! As I mentioned in my message to both of you, Michael, I’m here to talk business.” The man gently raised empty hands to the sky, unconcealing them from the dull gray fur pelts he wore. “Our home, Bludhaven, has been through a lot in the past few years. New politicians, fires, chemical attacks, vigilantes coming in and out like a revolving door. With all the change, I decided to make a few for myself. I didn’t always paint my face and cover myself in wolf fur.” The man offered a brilliantly white smile, starkly contrasting from his decorated face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ray hadn’t met men like this before, but he’d heard them speak. For a short period, Tyshawn found an interest in the self-help genre. During that time, nothing played over the car’s speakers aside from the confident, carefree voices of men who had somehow managed to make a lot of money. To Ray, they all seemed to say the same things, like the importance of having ‘the right mindset’, or vaguely described ‘habits for success’.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where I’m from, ‘evolution’ wasn’t part of a public education. Lucky for me, I got sent away to boarding school, so I learned all about the survival of the fittest. Adapt to survive, gentlemen.” The man briefly glanced to either side. “Hmm. Are there any ladies here? No?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Feels like you been talkin’ for an hour, and we still don’t know who you are.” Casey snapped. Ray made a quick hand signal behind his back, informing the others to be ready for trouble. The colorful man gave another white smile, showing no sign of distress. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not into the stump, speech, huh? My point is: if Bludhaven is changing, so am I. My name used to be something else, but now it’s Apex. I’m a businessman, and a man of science at heart.” As he spoke, the man walked directly in between the two groups. “Now, I know that with my new name and new look, it might be tough to take me seriously. But I’m not joking. I’m a businessman, not a comedian. All of </span>
  <em>
    <span>this</span>
  </em>
  <span> is a rebrand.” Apex gestured down at his outfit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“White, would you get my visual aid for me, please?” Apex threw a glance backward toward the enormous ivory-skinned man, who silently walked to the car. Apex turned back to the two gangs. “The purpose of a rebrand is to take a look at your business, and make sure it’s sending the right message. My message is simple: The people of Bludhaven are </span>
  <em>
    <span>weak</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” As Apex spoke the final word, the pale man, White, dropped something at his feet with a dull </span>
  <em>
    <span>thud</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In a brief moment of silence, only two quiet gasps could be heard. Apex’s ‘visual aid’ was a human body, nearly torn to shreds and pale with blood loss. The patriarch of the Vonn family, Lane Vonn, lay on the concrete of the pier. The slashes that covered his body were too rugged to have been made by a blade.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Exhibit A.” Apex clasped his hands behind his back, looking expectantly toward the pair of crowds.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What happened to him?” Ray managed to keep his voice calm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lane Vonn—well, I’m sure you recognize him—and I met to discuss some business. I offered him something new: a chance to join me, to be a part of the plans I have for Bludhaven. He was afraid of change. Too afraid—too </span>
  <em>
    <span>weak</span>
  </em>
  <span>—to adapt. And like I said, if you don’t adapt...” Apex gestured to the body, shrugging his shoulders. “I’m going to make you both the same offer I made to Lane. To help me make Bludhaven strong. Nature, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>life</span>
  </em>
  <span>, really, is a competition. Humans just happen to be one of the animals that cooperate with one another. So let’s cooperate.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ray paused in thought, looking from Vonn’s body to Apex, then over to Michael Casey. “So what? We join you or you’ll kill us like Vonn? That’s your offer?” Casey’s rough voice was still composed of anger, but had a new, anxious undertone to it. Apex shook his head and exhaled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can’t fight nature, people. For all of eternity, it’s undefeated. You either adjust to nature to keep going, or it keeps going without you.” A pause. “Michael, you only began leading the Whalers last year. Do you know the story of your people?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Casey growled in annoyance. “You think I’m stupid? Before me it was Mick, before him was Donny—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s not what I’m talking about.” Apex interrupted, then sighed. He resumed: “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Whalers</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Hunters of whales—the largest creatures on earth! Physically, a man should be no match for a while. But men adapted, and whales did not. Men created tools and weapons: spears and harpoons to slay whales. So much whale blood was spilled into the waters that this harbor town was named Blood-haven. What an incredible declaration of strength! But Bludhaven became weaker. Restrictions were put on whalers, before whaling was outlawed completely.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Apex stepped toward Casey, gesturing to him. “The </span>
  <em>
    <span>Whalers</span>
  </em>
  <span> were originally just that. Whale hunters who adapted, and found ways to continue their work outside the law. They continued adapting, and now, instead of whales, they traffic in weapons and drugs.” Apex paused to look into Casey’s eyes. “It’s a remarkable story. I’m offering you the chance to continue it. You can be strong like your ancestors, adapt, and join me. Or, you can remain stagnant like the whales.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For once, Casey said nothing. Hairs on the back of Ray’s neck began to stand up. Some sort of instinctual forewarning, filling him with adrenaline. He gave another signal to his brothers behind him: </span>
  <em>
    <span>wait.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>All 200 pounds of Casey’s body shifted forward, throwing his weight into a haymaker directed at Apex. The leaner man sidestepped the punch, then, in the blink of an eye, struck the off-balance Casey three times, the stomach, the chest, and the throat. Casey joined Lane Vonn on the concrete, wheezing to regain the wind that was knocked out of him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The rest of the Whalers sprung toward Apex. “White?” He called, avoiding strikes with ease and working his way through two—three—four men, before the enormous White made it to the scene. As soon as the brute was in, a losing fight for the Whalers became a blowout. Apex had been sending Whalers to the ground with two to three blows, but White needed no more than one ferocious punch to knock a thug out cold. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>All thirteen men had collapsed, some grunting, moaning, and wheezing, others silent. “Lane Vonn’s family will be in complete disarray without him. They won’t be strong like I need them to be.” Apex’s words were colder, his voice not so carefree. “Nature rarely gives second chances. But, as I said, Michael, I have a lot of respect for the Whalers. So I’ll give you another opportunity to join me later.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man turned to Ray, who did his best to keep his golden-brown eyes from growing too wide. “Ray. I admire you and the ORE as well. You don’t have the deep history of the Whalers. The Orange Roses East are much faster. Quick to change. Staying ahead of the curve has grown your influence as fast as any organization I’ve seen, in the business world and the underworld.” Apex stepped toward Ray slowly, extending his open hand. “Are you and your brothers ready to evolve?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ray didn’t need to think long after the question. He’d known it was coming as soon as Apex had effortlessly dropped Michael Casey. Join Apex willingly or be consumed by him. As always, he chose his words carefully. There was no need to complicate the situation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes.”</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>“Nooo...” Nightwing groaned, pushing himself up from the ground. His body hated him for it, but he forced himself to run. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You good, ‘Wing?” A concerned voice buzzed in his earpiece. He rubbed his eyes, hoping to remove the white splotches that obscured his vision.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m up. How long was I out?” His mind flashed back to the white blast of energy that had hit the concrete roof just in front of him. He was quick enough to avoid a direct hit, but the shockwave knocked him off his feet and unconscious.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Flash, get them out of here!” Dick winced slightly at the shouting. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jeez, Donna.” He leapt off the rooftop and fired his grapple, bracing his arm as the hook snapped into the next skyscraper, and the line went taught. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shut up, you baby. You were out a minute or two. Now get to Times Square, quick!” His body became a pendulum, swinging effortlessly through the air. He landed gently on the roof of the next skyscraper, sprinting to the edge and gazing down onto the circus of lights below him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>On a typical Tuesday evening, one could wear sunglasses and see just fine in Times Square, even after the sun had disappeared into the western horizon. But tonight, the lights did not flicker up and down the color spectrum, instead they strobed between white light and darkness. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Between the flashing, Nightwing could barely see a streak of scarlet, blurring in and out of the frantic tourists who skirted around the edge of the square. With each blur, the crowd grew smaller. A brighter streak of light appeared in the corner of Nightwing’s eye, and he heard a faint cry over the crowd’s rumble, and saw a dark haired woman tumbling in his direction on the asphalt below. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the center of the square, Arthur Light reached an open hand above his head, and flickering streaks of light shot into his palm. His right hand was pointed toward the tumbling woman, a tendril of smoke arising from it. Instead of his traditional gladiator-like garb, he was dressed like a doctor, his white lab coat flowing back and forth due to the pulsing energy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dr. Light belted out a cackle as the woman he’d sent tumbling pushed herself off the ground. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Always with the laughing. Sometimes this freak is worse than the Joker.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“You good, Donna?” Dick held his earpiece as he spoke, watching his friend raise herself to one knee, slowly standing up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve had worse.” She muttered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good, because you’ve got work to do.” Dick began walking backward from his perch on the roof, his eyes honing in on his target. “Flash, how’s the crowd?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Almost all out.” Wally West was interrupted over the comm by a loud bellow.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“FEAR ME!” </span>
  </em>
  <span>More maniacal laughter from Light.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“God, does he ever shut up?” Wally muttered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It's been what, ten years now? Always so </span>
  <em>
    <span>loud.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Donna agreed. Dick smirked at his friends’ words. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh, how I’ve missed banter. Okay, leader time.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’ll get louder if he keeps absorbing light, Donna. Only Flash is fast enough to get in on him, but you can get a hold of his arm.” He’d learned how to give orders from Batman, but over the years, Nightwing had adapted his own style of leadership in the field. It wasn’t in his nature to be gruff like Bruce all the time. “We distract him until Wally can take him out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>We?”  </span>
  </em>
  <span>Donna played up the annoyance in her voice. “I don’t see your black and blue butt anywhere.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Try looking up.” Between the strobing lights and the distance, he wasn’t sure Donna Troy could see his smirk as he leapt into the air above her. He felt his suit stretch and inflate under his arms and between his legs. </span>
  <em>
    <span>This may never get old.</span>
  </em>
  <span> The wind caught him, suddenly feeling almost like water.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nightwing angled his arms and legs to bank into a dive, picking up speed as he sailed toward Dr. Light. Nightwing could make out the dark blur of Donna joining his advance, her Amazonian speed carrying her effortlessly along the pavement. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still holding his left arm above his head, Light turned his head to face Donna, his laughter abruptly coming to a halt. “You should stay down, girl.” Light reached his right arm toward her, his hand beginning to pulse with energy. Dick’s eyes narrowed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, Arthur! Up here!” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Taunting 101. Supervillains </span>
  </em>
  <span>hate</span>
  <em>
    <span> being called by their real names.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Dr. Light’s face contorted with surprise, searching the sky to find the noise. Upon locating the source, it settled back into a scowl. With a flick of his wrist, the pulsing energy in Light’s hand focused into a thin beam, scorching through the air on a collision course with Nightwing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The blast that knocked Dick out earlier caught him by surprise, but this one he anticipated. Just as Light scowled at him, Nightwing banked hard to the left, feeling the beam whizz underneath his right arm. A whistle sounded from the new hole in his right ‘wing’, and Dick fought the turbulence as his descent sped up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fortunately, his distraction worked exactly as he’d hoped. The lights of Times Square suddenly stopped strobing. Dick heard a surprised grunt from Light, who sported a new accessory on his left arm, a glowing golden lasso. Light was jerked violently toward Donna, who delivered a devastating punch to his gut. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dick’s landing wasn’t perfect, but he ignored the pain as he rolled across the pavement, knowing they’d finally gotten the upper hand. Then, as Donna threw another punch, light erupted from the doctor’s body, sending Donna hurtling backward into Nightwing.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Oof!”</span>
  </em>
  <span> On his way down, Dick caught a glimpse of a crimson blur appearing in front of Light. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s all of them!” reverberated in Dick’s earpiece, the words distorted due to their speaker moving faster than sound. The Flash became a scarlet whirlwind around the doctor. A choppy series of staccato grunts and whelps of pain echoed from Light, in response to strikes and blows too fast to perceive.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before Light hit the ground, Wally was helping Dick and Donna up, a wide grin on his face. “You two lying around again?” </span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>“My question is: how does the guy keep getting out of prison? I mean I know he’s a genius scientist or whatever, but he’s got the common sense of a rock.” Wally West leaned back in the booth, taking a swig from the amber bottle in his hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was a guard, right? Some guard took a bribe?” Donna glanced to Dick for confirmation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He gave a small frown, shrugging his shoulders. “Uh, I mean I don’t know for sure. That’s what the commissioner said.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Light is so… What’s the word? He’s like one of those portraits at a carnival where the artist gives you a big ol’ noggin.” Wally provided animated gestures toward his own ‘noggin’, turning Dick’s frown into a smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A caricature.” Donna laughed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah! Because he’s always saying, like, <em>‘fe</em></span>
  <em>
    <span>ar me!’</span>
  </em>
  <span>  or whatever.”</span>
</p><p><span>“And laughing like a maniac. It’s so fake, too, right? That can’t be his</span> <span>real laugh.” Donna looked to Dick, inviting him to add to the conversation.</span></p><p>
  <span>He absentmindedly stirred his drink, considering his reply. “He’s a narcissist. Same as a lot of villains. For whatever reason, they think they’re special and laws don’t apply to them.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Isn’t that basically what </span>
  </em>
  <span>we </span>
  <em>
    <span>think, too?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure, but don’t you think the laugh is a bit much?” Donna gave Dick a reassuring smile, which caused him to feel suddenly odd. Why did he need to be reassured?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Um, I dunno. Probably. Maybe </span>
  <em>
    <span>he  </span>
  </em>
  <span>thinks it's his real laugh?” Dick offered a smile of his own, but still kept his focus on stirring his drink with its thin black straw. In his peripheral vision, he saw Donna and Wally exchange looks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You alright, man?” Dick exhaled through his nose and looked up at Wally. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Here we go.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course, why?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dick, we’re your best friends.” Donna leaned across the table toward him. “If something’s bothering you, you can always talk to us about it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Guys, I’m fine, seriously!” Dick laughed. “Have I been weird or something?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, but a lot of weird stuff has happened to you since the last time we </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>talked.” Wally’s tone remained serious, devoid of its usual humor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We were worried about you, Dick.” Donna agreed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Guys, we get shot at all the time. It’s part of the job! This time just happened to involve some selective amnesia.” Dick casually raised his drink to take a sip. “But I’m over it now.” Donna and Wally exchanged another look. “I’ve had all my memories back for almost a year now. Seriously, I’m good.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Trust me, man, </span>
  <em>
    <span>I</span>
  </em>
  <span>  know you’re good. This is all her.” Wally tilted his head in Donna’s direction. Donna glowered at him in response.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We </span>
  <em>
    <span>both</span>
  </em>
  <span>  know you’re good. But we wanted to make sure you knew you could come to us, even if you weren’t good. Because we love you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love you two, too. Because I know you’ll always be there for me.” Dick put as much reassurance as he could into his words.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How’s Barbara?” Donna’s fingers wrapped gently around Dick’s hand. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Dammit.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Babs is great. I assume.” Dick responded a little too quickly. </span>
  <em>
    <span>How does she always know?  </span>
  </em>
  <span>“We decided to call things off again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, man. That sucks.” Wally placed a hand on Dick’s shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dick laughed again “Guys it’s no big deal! You’re being so dramatic. Babs and I are both keeping a lot of balls in the air right now. We didn’t want to add the pressure of a ‘more-than-friends’ relationship.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She’s just got to figure herself out. And now you have time to do the same,” Donna squeezed his hand, then quickly added: “If you want to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dick rolled his eyes yet again. “Okay, the Dick Grayson relationship hour is over. Next on the agenda: Donna Troy’s upcoming photography expo.” He downed the rest of his drink and stood up with a grin. “But first, next round’s on me.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I realized that in the first two works of "Bludhaven: City of Birds", Dick just sort of threw himself back into his work, and didn't take much time to deal with losing his memories, gaining a new set of fake memories, and then recalling his real memories. That's a lot of wild stuff going on inside Dick's head! So we'll be joining him as he tries to sort out everything he's gone through.</p><p>The thing is: it doesn't always take a bullet to the brain to make someone question their personal identity. Sometimes we just wake up and don't feel like ourselves, and maybe even don't know who 'ourselves' are. That phenomenon (dissociation and/or depersonalization; look them up!) will be a big part of this story. </p><p>I'm also going to try to be a bit more active in the notes sections in this story. So far so good!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><em>“Alright here we go third take.”  </em>Hank Duncan nodded along to the looping brass horns in his earbuds, his footsteps unconsciously melding to the rhythm of the drum beat. The glowing green <em>3.8</em> <em>MILES  </em>on the treadmill’s display blinked to <em>3.9 MILES</em>. He soundlessly mouthed the words along with Kendrick Lamar, skipping some verses in favor of breathing. When the display blinked again, Hank touched a red circle, slowing down to a walk and stopping. He rested his hands on his hips as the treadmill gently carried him backward until his feet hit solid ground. </p><p>Hank inhaled deep breaths, feeling oxygen and endorphins flow through him. He turned to the right, gazing over three treadmills and through a large glass window. Between two rows of buildings, the sun was peeking out from behind the horizon, morphing the sky into a mix of pink, purple and dark blue. After living on the east coast for so long, it was easy to take an unobstructed sunrise for granted. But recently, Hank was trying to be intentional about watching it. 5 AM to workouts had become a staple in his routine, and in the middle of September, he was always awake before the sun.</p><p>Hank turned back around, grabbing his water bottle and bringing it to his lips hungrily. As he gulped down the water, his eyes fell to the only other body with him among the rows of treadmills. Past an empty treadmill, a dark brown ponytail bobbed up and down. The young woman sported a loose blue tank top and gray tights, carried effortlessly by a long, springy gait. </p><p>
  <em> “Let go of me.” He did not. “Aren’t we going to stop him?” Liz’s blue eyes angrily flashed even bluer than usual, complimented by her blue tank top. She gestured behind her to the man across the park, who’d found a pace somewhere between a jog and a sprint. The man carried a pink handbag, likely a woman’s. Hank sighed. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “You’re gonna chase him down on your sprained ankle and bruised lung?” Liz ripped her arm out of his grip. </em>
</p><p><em> “Are </em> you <em> ?!” Liz’s glare made Hank’s neck feel hot with irritation. </em></p><p>“Uh, hi, can I help you?” The young brunette woman stared at him with a raised eyebrow. She’d somehow teleported from the treadmill to three feet in front of him. <em> Or… </em></p><p>Hank removed the spout of his water bottle from between his teeth, and frantically pulled one earbud out. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to be weird, uh,” he offered a sheepish smile, “Would you believe I was zoning out?”</p><p>“Sure, why not. Seems like you do it all the time in class.” The girl laughed, walking away. It was a nice sound. <em> Class? Oh my god. </em> She sat a few desks away from him in ‘Introduction to Marine Biology’. He saw her there yesterday, and would see her again tomorrow. Hank pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing. <em> Another perfect social interaction for Hank Duncan. </em>He slowly lowered to a seated position on the nearest treadmill, his brain circling back to its previous daydream. </p><p>
  <em> “No. I’m not. Do you see anyone else chasing after him? Do you hear anyone yelling ‘help’ or ‘thief’?” His words came harsher than he meant, but he was already rolling. “I’m not gonna punch someone just for running in the park holding a bag. What if he’s bringing the bag to someone? What if it’s his bag?”  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “What if it’s not?” Liz shot back, getting in his face.  </em>
</p><p><em> “Then whatever! Someone will report a stolen bag to the police! Maybe they catch the guy, maybe they don’t! Why are you even </em> asking <em> that question?” Hank immediately knew that the answer to his question was </em> him <em> . Bringing Liz into his life had stolen away her normal life. He sighed again. “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry for snapping at you. But…” </em></p><p>“Uh oh. You strike out there, slugger?” Hank glanced up to the familiar face, the mocha-skinned boy grinning and pointing over his shoulder with a thumb. </p><p>“Honestly, Jace, it could’ve gone worse.” Jace offered a powerful arm to Hank, helping him up with ease. </p><p>“Don't worry about it. There'll be plenty of girls at the thing on Friday night." Jace gave Hank a wink.</p><p>"Once again, I cannot stress enough, I'm no good at parties. The last party I went to... I mean just terrible." Hank laughed to himself, somewhat bitterly.</p><p>"I didn't say party. I said thing. And you're <em>going. </em> Ready to hit the weights?”</p><p>“You have no idea. I’m pretty worked up right now.” Hank smiled but shook his head, and followed Jace to the weightroom. He tried to focus on the weights, his muscles becoming sorer, or conversation with Jace, but his mind wouldn’t let him stop the movie halfway through.</p><p>
  <em> “Liz you’re not a part of this. I mean, I don’t know. You’re not—You can’t—” </em>
</p><p><em> “I can’t </em> what, <em> Hank?” She jabbed her finger into the center of his chest. “What am I unable to do? Or did you mean to say ‘may not’ instead of ‘can not’? What don’t I have your permission to do?” </em></p><p>
  <em> “That’s not—You know that’s not what I meant.” He clasped his hands on top of his head, taking a small step back. “You’re not a superhero! Or a vigilante, or whatever! You’re a regular person, a civilian.”  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “So if I don’t hide behind a mask, I can’t help people?” Liz didn’t allow him any extra space, following him. </em>
</p><p><em> “No—that’s—the whole point of the mask is so </em> this <em> doesn’t happen!” Hank toned his voice down to a hissing whisper, gesturing to himself and Liz. “To keep the people around me safe! Chasing after random people because you </em> think <em> they’re stealing something is not safe!” </em></p><p>
  <em> “Neither is getting shot in the head. Does the mask make that okay?” She hissed back. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “You mean when I was trying to save you? After I already saved you twice in the same night?” As soon as the words left his mouth, he felt like garbage. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Well since I’m such a burden, maybe I shouldn’t be one of the people around you.” Icicles hung off Liz’s words, and she finally gave him some breathing room, turning around and striding away. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “So what, we’re done?”  </em>
</p><p><em> “Done with what? What were </em> ‘we’ <em> even doing?” Liz threw a cold look back toward him. He didn’t know what to say. “Good luck with college, Hank.” </em></p><hr/><p>A siren started blaring in Dick’s ears, and he tensed as the lights above him flickered to pitch black. Dr. Light emerged from the dark hallway before him, his very presence illuminating the area around them. </p><p>“Light.” Dick growled, reaching for his escrima sticks. Dr. Light pointed his index finger at Dick, the radiant aura fading around the rest of his body and focusing into a small, bright light in his fingertip. Dick stumbled back, raising his hand to shield his eyes as his vision filled with white spots. His elbow bumped into something behind him, and he whirled around, only to see what looked to be a classic white-sheet-ghost costume, only the sheet was rumpled, and had a paper texture to it, like a napkin.</p><p>“...Napkin... man?” Dick questioned. <em> POP. </em>He turned back to the doctor, and the thin streak of light beamed toward Dick, burning through the side of his head. His vision went dark.</p><p>Dick jolted awake, a muffled sound attempting to escape his throat. He was in his bed. His bedroom in the loft. Dick’s sheets and comforter had been thrown away. A cold breeze from his open window made him shiver. He took a deep breath and swung his legs over the bed. He went to the window, peering out into the Bludhaven night. <em> What a dream. </em> He looked back toward his empty bed, deciding there was no way he was getting back to sleep.</p><p>Dick approached his desk chair, swiping his uniform draped over it. Hurriedly, he hopped on one foot, pulling on his pants and throwing the top on over his torso. “Where’s my mask?” He muttered absentmindedly to himself. An image of his blue mask, sitting on his bathroom sink flashed through his mind.</p><p>With a lazy push, the door swung open, and a quick scan of his sink came up empty. Dick frowned, dropping to his knees, figuring the mask must’ve fallen to the floor. His fingers found a crumpled piece of polyester blend fabric. <em> Feels weird.  </em></p><p>He stood up, flicking on the light, eyes widening when he saw the dark, owl-like mask in his hand. His face reflected in the mask’s goggles, but didn’t look right. Dick’s eyes shot to the mirror, and his hands shot to his head, feeling the rough texture of his recently shaved head. His chest was devoid of the bright blue bird symbol. </p><p><em> My uniform. </em> But it wasn’t. In his hand was the mask of a Talon, and on his body was a Talon’s uniform. Dick dropped the mask, frantically tried to remove his clothes, but they refused to let go of him. A hand caught the mask, and Dick saw William Cobb’s reflection behind him in the mirror, just before the Talon mask was pulled over his head, sending him back into darkness.</p><p>“AH!” Dick released a full-stop scream, his hands clawing at his torso. His vision suddenly returned to him, and he wasn’t covered in a Talon uniform, instead tangled in the sheets of his bed. Light filtered through his open window. The bright blue bird looked right at him from its perch draped over his desk chair. Dick’s hands shot to his head, finding thick locks of hair. He slowly ran his fingers through, inhaling slowly and shaking his head. “No. No more <em>'</em><em>Inception'</em>  stuff.”</p><p>He got out of bed and dragged himself into the shower, his eyes heavy. Dick had gotten used to nights with little sleep long ago, but the past few nights, the quality of his sleep was terrible, filled with similar nightmares. The warm water washing over his sore muscles helped him to wake him up a little, but he still felt drained. <em> Coffee. </em>He dried off, throwing on a robe and heading to the coffee machine. </p><p>As Dick turned around to check the time, he nearly flung his mug across the room in surprise. Sitting in his old gray armchair was his former partner, Damian Wayne. “Morning, Grayson.” As per usual, Damian’s brows were furrowed, his lips pursed into not quite a scowl. He was a child who was never fully allowed to be a child, yet still had to battle his childlike appearance to be taken seriously. </p><p>Dick recalled his mother’s words from long ago. <em> “If you keep frowning like that, your face will get stuck that way.” </em>Those who didn’t know Damian well would assume the irritated look was permanently plastered onto his face. But when Dick stepped in for Bruce as Batman, Damian was his Robin, and the two became brothers. He’d experienced plenty of laughter and smiles from the youngest Wayne, and wasn’t fooled by the grimace he saw.</p><p>“I know that our family is weird in this way, but you don’t <em> always </em>have to break into someone’s house to see them. It’s actually considered very polite to make a phone call or send a text beforehand.” Dick turned around and poured coffee into his mug. “What brings you to the Blud, little D? Got sick of Titans Tower?”</p><p> Dick looked back at Damian, who stood up from the chair, folding his arms. ‘Little D’ was beginning to be less accurate. After being a late bloomer, it seemed like Damian had a growth spurt every month. He’d stretched out so much that he was approaching Dick’s height, almost lanky, though Dick knew there was wiry strength in his long limbs. “<em> Tt. </em> I knew you’d forgotten.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“The Wayne Energy Plant’s opening ceremony is in 22 minutes. You’re late.” Dick’s eyes widened as he accidentally burned his tongue on the steaming coffee. <em> Of course—Ow, hot—Why else would he be wearing a suit? </em>“Father and Pennyworth are outside in the car. Shall I tell them you aren’t going to make it?” </p><p>“No! I’ll be down in a second.” </p><p>“Richard!” Dick whipped his head back on the way to his bedroom, then planted his feet, coming to a halt. Damian held a plastic-bag-wrapped pale gray suit, accented by dark windowpane lines crossing it up and down. “Alfred also knew you’d forget.” Dick rolled his eyes, but quickly grabbed the suit and returned to his room to change.</p><hr/><p>“Mr. Duncan? Are you with us?” Hank snapped his head to the left, meeting the eyes of the woman standing next to him. He blinked a few times, then reached his hand out to accept the small scantron sheet she held in front of him. <em> Oops.  </em></p><p>“Sorry, Dr. Warren.” His professor’s dark eyes lightened, and a small smile appeared on her face. </p><p>“Don’t let it happen again.” The order came in a gentle, teasing tone, as she moved to the next desk behind him. Hank smiled. He liked Dr. Warren, and didn’t want her to think he was bored by her class. </p><p>“Man, I wanted to start with BCC so I could get some practice for full university classes. This ‘trial run’ thing is gonna kill my GPA.” Jace’s voice to his right caught Hank’s attention, and he turned to his friend. </p><p>At the start of the semester in August, Bludhaven Community College had announced a partnership with Haven For Humanity, a Bludhaven-based nonprofit think tank. Hank was still not exactly sure what ‘think tank’ meant, but the purpose of the partnership was to certify BCC as a four-year-institution, so students would have the option to earn Bachelor’s Degrees instead of Associate’s Degrees. BCC considered the current school year a ‘trial run’, bringing in over 30 new faculty members and spending millions on renovations.</p><p>“<em>96?</em>  Are you serious?” Hank followed his friend’s mocha-colored finger to the red number on his half-sheet of paper. “Your eyes are permanently glazed in this class, man. How’d you do so well on the test? You got a test bank or something?” Jace quieted to a whisper for his final question.</p><p>Hank chuckled and shook his head. “Nah, I just read the book once before.” He nodded to the copy of Plato’s <em> Republic </em> which sat on their shared desk. One of the first books Nightwing had given him. <em> “Ethics, Kite. We have to completely internalize our sense of right and wrong. In the field, you won’t have time to debate, you have to trust your gut and act.” </em></p><p>“Well from now on you’re my Philosophy tutor.” Jace pointed to the number on his own test: <em> 72. </em></p><p>“Hey, that’s a passing grade! That’s all you need!” Jace shook his head, his face serious.</p><p>“I need a two-five to stay on the team.” Jace was BCC’s first string defensive back. Hank knew how important football was to his friend. They’d met the first week of the semester, two of the very few people in BCC's Student Recreation Center—'The Rec'—at 5:30 AM. That morning, Jace told Hank he’d be working out with the team again that afternoon. <em> “If you really want to get better, you gotta put in the work on your own, outside of practice.” </em></p><p>Hank could empathize. He glanced from his friend’s brown eyes to the book, recalling the early mornings he spent training with Dick, only to patrol with him again in the middle of the night. Hank clapped Jace on the shoulder. “You want a tutor, you got one. Whatever you need, buddy, I’m here to help.”</p><hr/><p>“As the world changed, the Wayne name has changed with it. Wayne Industries became Wayne Corp, then WayneTech, and now, our organization will open a new door to Wayne Energy.” Dick watched Bruce speak at the podium, only half paying attention. Coming from a family of circus performers, the only business that Dick ever had any affinity for was show business. Being 'in the red' or 'in the black' didn't mean anything to him.</p><p>While it was impressive that Bruce was able to flip back and forth between ‘World’s Greatest Detective’ and ‘one of the world’s most innovative business leaders’ or whatever the latest issue of <em>Forbes</em> called him, Dick was still bored by it all. Since he was nine, he’d been to hundreds of these types of events. Normally, he’d make a game out of trying to make Alfred laugh, while moving his mouth as little as possible so the press couldn’t see him.</p><p>But today, he felt too tired to make jokes. The car ride over had been quiet. Bruce was reading over his speech outline, and Damian was preoccupied with his phone. Dick set his own gaze out the window, taking in the Bludhaven streets in the daylight. He’d spent so much time traveling them at night recently, that it was almost like a foreign world.</p><p>“Though we are new to the energy world, WayneTech, as always, will be aiming straight for the front lines of clean energy technology. We owe it to our planet to find new ways to sustain society’s needs while also sustaining the nature and wildlife that share our home.”</p><p>Dick envisioned a to-do list for the day in his mind, trying to keep himself awake. <em> Make schedule for the gym. Wash suit. How many wingdings do I have? Need to make more. Oh, the suit has a hole in it. Wonder if I can patch it myself? Probably best to have Alfred do it… </em></p><p>Respectful, muted applause interrupted Dick’s thoughts. Bruce had cut the red ribbon in front of the building. Unfortunately they had stopped using giant scissors for these sort of things. Dick always thought those were funny. He joined the applause late. <em> I should be more excited about this. </em> The energy plant would offer a clean energy source to the people of Bludhaven, designed with a non-profit business model to make the energy affordable to as many citizens as possible. </p><p>Dick turned to his left, but Alfred and Damian were in conversation with Lucius Fox and newly elected Bludhaven Mayor Blake Perry. Perry had a reputation for distrusting large corporations and wealthy people like Bruce Wayne, so his appearance was reassuring to Dick that the energy plant was going to be a good thing for the Blud. </p><p>“Looks like you managed to stay awake. I’ll take that as a compliment.” Dick turned to his mentor’s warm smile, returning it with a grin of his own. </p><p>“It was a great speech, Bruce. Looks like Mayor Perry thought so, too.” He nodded his head back to the Mayor. Bruce shook his head.</p><p>“That’s all Lucius, not me. We both agreed that it would be easier to get Perry’s support if old money like Bruce Wayne stayed out of it.” Before Dick could respond, a dark haired man approached Bruce from behind. He was the spitting image of a yuppie business man: pristine chocolate suit, neatly groomed hair, but sported an exceptional golden bolo tie at his throat.</p><p>“Tremendous speech you gave there, Mr. Wayne.” Bruce turned to the sun-tanned face, Dick assumed this man wasn’t much older than he was. “Pardon me, I’ll introduce myself: Adam Copperhead<em> — </em> I currently sit on the board of Haven for Humanity,” Bruce nodded, smiling politely as he shook Adam’s hand, and threw a glance toward Dick. “I wanted to personally thank you for the Wayne Foundation’s donations to BCC.  It’s allowed for the youth of Bludhaven to get a real shot at a great education…” Dick laughed as he turned away. <em> Another day in the life of Bruce Wayne. </em></p><p>“Hey there, stranger.” Bludhaven Police Commissioner Colleen Edwards stood in Dick’s path with a smirk. </p><p>“Commissioner Edwards! Thanks so much for coming.” Dick returned her smirk. “What brings you to this neck of the woods?”</p><p>“A lot of high profile people out and about today. Figured the BPD should be here in case anyone tried any funny business.” Colleen brushed a strand of caramel hair behind her ear. “And you know I’m not one to give an order I wouldn’t follow myself.”</p><p>Dick chuckled, feeling a pang of guilt. He hadn’t talked to the Commissioner in almost two months, since before the Cobblepot benefit dinner. “Well Commissioner, I don’t know if I count as high profile, but I certainly feel safer with you here.” </p><p>“Dick.” She raised an eyebrow. “You know you can just call me Colleen, right? I’d say we know each other well enough.” She was right. Once upon a time, they both went by different names: Ric Grayson for him, and Nightwing for her. </p><p>“Colleen. Sure, sounds good.” Of the four Nightwings who stood in for Dick while he had amnesia, only Colleen and Malcolm Hutch remained alive. Alphonse Sapienza, who founded the stand-in Nightwings, and Zac Edwards, Colleen’s brother, were both killed by William Cobb. Dick felt another, deeper pang of guilt, flashing back to the nightmare he escaped this morning. “Well, Colleen, I’m sure you need to get back to protecting and serving and all that.”</p><p>“Actually, that’s part of why I’m here. I need to see a mutual friend of ours tonight.” Colleen stepped closer, speaking in a serious, hushed tone. “Do you think he’ll be available?”</p><p>Dick gave a quick nod. “When and where?”</p><p>“The pier at Lanely Point at 1 AM. I’m hoping to keep this discreet, got it?” </p><p>“When am I—” Dick cleared his throat, offering a sheepish grin. “When is our friend not discreet?” Colleen laughed aloud, shaking her head as she turned to walk away.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Okay, I realized that I didn't even really talk about Apex at all in last chapter's notes, despite him being a big portion of it. Obviously, I adore Nightwing, and nearly every character associated with him, but as I have been rereading the 1996 comic series, I feel like he's a little lacking when it comes to iconic villains, other than ones that he shares with Batman. </p><p>Batman, of course, has had like 100 years worth of comics (plus TV and Movies, *and* he's in like a million different comic series at once) to really flesh out his villains, but still. Seeing Nightwing fight Two-Face or Scarecrow is more interesting (to me) than seeing him fight Shrike or Torque. I think Dick's most iconic villain is probably Deathstroke, as they've had quite a bit of history, but that history also means sharing Slade with the Teen Titans, Batman, and a bunch of other heroes. </p><p>The first villain I wrote in this series, Michael Turner, is very forgettable. I literally just now had to go back and look at the story to remember his name. Hank's parents, I tried to make a bit more interesting, and to give them some relatable motivations, but Apex is a character I've put real work into planning out.</p><p>We'll be learning much more about Apex, in future chapters, and eventually seeing him and Nightwing interact with each other. My goal with Apex is to create a Nightwing villain character with a real, distinguishable identity. If you want, let me know how I'm doing so far!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Time slowed to a crawl in the Union Coffee Shop as a green saucer teetered on the edge of the a wobbling table, set into motion by a man standing up too quickly and bumping his knee. The small green plate dropped silently through the air. It was a cheap saucer, replacing it was as simple as a few swipes and taps on Jan Granger’s cell phone. But Hank caught it all the same, his hand shooting from his hip to snatch the plate from the air.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You done with this? Mind if I take it?” He winked at the surprised man, swiftly placing the green saucer on top of a few other dishes in his hand, and strolled back behind the bar counter-top. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Impressive catch, there, Hank.” As he set the dishes into the sink, Hank smiled at the voice of Scott Daniels. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How did you </span>
  <em>
    <span>do</span>
  </em>
  <span> that?” An excited voice rang in Hank’s ears, causing his grin to grow wider as he turned around. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, you saw that?” Next to Scott, a wide eyed young boy was smiling ear to ear. “Just some leftover reflexes from my days as a star shortstop, Miles. Scott could tell you all about it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wow, really?” Miles looked back up at Scott, his brown eyes shining with awe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Actually, Hank played second base, and never once put that kind of effort into baseball.” Scott threw an eye roll toward Hank. Hank waved aside Scott’s version of the story. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well hello, Miles!” Miles broke into a laughing fit as Jan Granger snuck up behind him, grabbing him and thrusting him into the air. Jan pecked Scott on the cheek, and Hank’s heart warmed. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Almost like a family.</span>
  </em>
  <span> “What are you and Henry going to do today?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After weeks of planning and coordination, Scott had finally gotten the Bludhaven Youth Mentors program off the ground. Hundreds of underprivileged kids throughout Bludhaven assigned volunteer mentors, most of whom were in high school or college. Hank was more than happy to have been paired with Miles Carson, an eight year old from the Zee Moores. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re going fishing. Gonna catch some dinner for all four of us.” Hank smirked at Jan, who raised an eyebrow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t know you knew how to fish, Hank.” Scott chuckled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t, but there’s a place on the docks that lets you rent poles and bait. How hard could it be?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, how hard could it be?” Miles imitated Hank’s tone and shoulder shrug perfectly, causing Jan, Scott, and Hank to erupt in laughter. Hank rubbed the back of his neck, considering the imitation. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Gotta be careful what I do in front of him.</span>
  </em>
</p><hr/><p>
  <em>
    <span>Jab-jab. Kick. Right cross. Palm-strike. Roundhouse. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Dick continued wailing on the punching bag in front of him, focusing all his effort on his movements, desperately trying to avoid thinking about anything else. The day had been passing by like molasses. When he got home from the plant’s opening, he completed his whole to-do list in a little over an hour, meaning he still had ten hours until he was supposed to meet Commissioner Edwards at the pier.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ten hours was a lot of time alone with one’s thoughts</span>
  <em>
    <span>—</span>
  </em>
  <span>exactly what Dick didn’t want right now. He continued punching and kicking, putting more force into each blow. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I can get a new punching bag any time…</span>
  </em>
  <span> His abrupt stop came when he saw a dark red smear on the gray bag. He gazed down at his hands. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blood trickled from the knuckles on Dick’s right hand. He’d split them by punching the bag too hard without taping up his hands. He sighed, stalking away from the bag to his first aid kit. The basement of his loft was completely silent other than his own movements. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Should’ve put on some music.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Dick grimaced as he bandaged his hand. Music was usually the duty of one Hank Duncan. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Look, you know—well, I </span>
  </em>
  <span>hope </span>
  <em>
    <span>you know I support you no matter what, but I’m a little confused on where this is coming from. Is it something I did?” Dick was being stared at by the white mask sitting on the neatly folded uniform Hank held in his hands.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“No, Dick, it’s not like that at all.” Hank shook his head vehemently. “I’ve been thinking about this for awhile. I’m so thankful for everything you’ve done for me. You’ve been a great teacher—at both the hero stuff and just life in general—and a great friend.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Dick glanced at his watch. 7:42 PM. There weren’t windows in the basement. Was it dark out already? He closed the first aid kit and tossed it back onto a counter-top, swiping a handful of wingdings. Dick whipped the wingdings one after another into the targets across the room, then switched to throwing two and three at once. Each throwing star buried itself into a bulls-eye. Perfect. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I just keep questioning whether or not I’m doing the right thing. And like you said at the beginning, when we’re out on the streets, there’s no time for debating ethics. If I keep putting on the mask and going out there, I’m a liability. To you, to myself, and to anyone who we’re trying to help. If I hesitate—”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Hank.” Dick offered a warm smile. “I get it, man. I’ve been there. We all have. It’s a hard job, and sometimes it can make you question yourself.” He put a firm hand on Hank’s shoulder. “Like I said, I support you no matter what. You take all the time you need. If you need forever, that’s fine, too. But keep the suit, for now.” He winked.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Are you sure?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Well if you </span>
  </em>
  <span>really </span>
  <em>
    <span>don’t want it, I can take it, but if not, then I think you should keep it. Either as a memento, or just in case. You never know what could happen. If I know you, you’ll keep trying to help everyone you can, and you might find someone you think you can help more as Kite than as Hank Duncan.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Hank looked back down at the mask, then back up to Dick, a small smile appearing on his face. “Thanks, Nightwing.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe he should check in with Hank. Ask how college is going. Immediately, Dick's mind played him a highlight reel of Bruce not giving him enough space when he was Robin, and he shook his head. He’d give Hank space. He was just fine, anyway. There was no bad blood. They left things on good terms.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why am I thinking about this like it was a breakup?” Dick pinched the bridge of his nose. Then he sighed again, thinking of another recent breakup. Dick rubbed his eyes, wrinkling his nose and brows. His face felt wrong</span>
  <em>
    <span>—</span>
  </em>
  <span>exposed. His fists clenched, his fingers gripping nothing but empty air. He didn’t care what time it was or if it was dark out. He needed to get into uniform. “I’m going out.”</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>“I’d like to add an item to the agenda.” Adam Copperhead stood from the black leather office chair, rising above the other bodies sitting around the boardroom table. Through the west windows walling the room, the sky had turned orange with the sunset. The older man at the head of the table raised a graying eyebrow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We were about to conclude the meeting, Mr. Copperhead, but—” Adam had been losing his patience for Aldrich Whitaker more and more each board meeting. The chairman of the board was nothing more than an old, washed up banker. His number one concern was his own comfort, trying to avoid doing anything that would negatively impact his legacy. Whitaker fought Adam through every step of the process of partnering with Bludhaven Community College.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know, I’m sorry, I won’t take up too much of everyone’s time.” Adam remained standing, adjusting his bolo tie. “Haven For Humanity has recently partnered with BCC, connecting our think tank with some of the top scientists in the United States, people </span>
  <em>
    <span>we</span>
  </em>
  <span> brought into our city to make it better. But now, we have more decisions to make. Will we leave things as they are? I say no. We need to keep pushing forward. Talk to these scientists, fund their research and experiments.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Our budget is still recovering from the improvements we’re making at BCC, Adam.” Levi Stamper, the chief accounting officer of HFH, gently waved a multi-colored spreadsheet in the air. “We just went over this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adam smiled. He liked Levi. His constant concerns about numbers could be annoying, but was only natural for an accountant, and he had enough spunk in him to challenge anyone who threatened to imbalance his budget.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re right, Levi. This would be an aggressive move, But my aggression only stems from my passion for making a better Bludhaven. I’ve been in this wonderful city for just over a year, but in that short time I’ve seen it changing, evolving. I want to make sure that Haven For Humanity evolves with it, so it isn’t left behind.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The table had grown quiet, and Adam smiled. The feeling of capturing a room’s attention was one that always gave him a rush of endorphins.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My grandfather, Addison Water Moccasin, was stubborn enough to refuse being confined to his tiny Oklahoma reservation, but smart enough to know he would have to make some changes if he wanted to escape. Addison made a plan to change, to evolve. He changed his tribal surname to that of a similar snake: Copperhead. He hunted and gathered supplies, selling trinkets and pelts and saving money to buy a three-piece suit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He wore the suit to his local bank to apply for a loan, taking advantage of his native heritage to found the first Copperhead Road Casino on his reservation. Within a few years, Addison was no longer trapped. He could go anywhere he wanted, and people across the state came to him, throwing their money at him. My father...” Adam paused in thought, fiddling with his bolo tie before removing it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When my father took the reins, he embraced change as well. He expanded Copperhead Road, adding two additional locations in Oklahoma, then spreading throughout the south and Midwest, before he was killed on a hunting trip.” He allowed himself a moment of silence, then cleared his throat, continuing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I spent my whole life becoming a man of business. Through boarding school, prep school, and business school, every class I took taught me about mitigating risk. But I am not </span>
  <em>
    <span>only </span>
  </em>
  <span>a businessman. My true nature is that of a scientist. I live to risk, to experiment, to learn. I could have sat on the laurels created for me by my father and grandfather. But I didn’t. Instead, I expanded Copperhead Road out of the Midwest, here, to the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Haven  </span>
  </em>
  <span>of casinos we call home.” Adam gazed between the eyes of the board members. Some were beginning to glaze over. He continued on more forcefully.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you for your story, Mr. Copperhead, but as Chairman, I am going to entertain a motion to table this item until next week.” Whitaker rose from his own seat across the table. Generally, Aldrich would take measures to disguise his naturally condescending tone. In this moment, he did not.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Motion denied.” Adam pulled a folded sheet of paper from his pocket and slid it across the table to Whitaker. “Before this meeting, I took the liberty of acquiring fifty-five percent of Haven for Humanity shares. The documents Aldrich holds will prove it.” Murmurs erupted around the table. Adam’s eyes narrowed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, </span>
  <em>
    <span>as Chairman</span>
  </em>
  <span>, I am not satisfied resting on my laurels. That’s why I joined this organization, and why we are rebranding, effective </span>
  <em>
    <span>immediately</span>
  </em>
  <span>. What was once ‘Haven for Humanity’ is now ‘Human Growth Haven’.” The room’s murmur had died down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>HGH</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” Levi Stamper was the only one courageous enough to interrupt the moment of silence. Adam smiled again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s right. Our new title shares an acronym with Human Growth Hormone. This is no coincidence. HGH may have a controversial reputation thanks to athletics, but it was created to help humans surpass their natural limits, the circumstances they were born into. We will do the same for Bludhaven. Next week we </span>
  <em>
    <span>will </span>
  </em>
  <span>be discussing which research projects we will be funding for our BCC associates. I expect you to come prepared. Meeting adjourned.”</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Since he was a boy, he had a tendency to quickly become bored with monotony. In the circus, it was called ‘itchy feet’. As soon as the last performance was over, Dick was ready to pack up the tents, the animals, the trapeze rig, and head to the next thumbtack on his parents’ map. When he began working with Batman, his itchy feet remained. The end of each patrol, each mystery, each fight, and each chase across the streets of Gotham left him immediately hungry for the next.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After spending a few years on his own, Nightwing realized despite his itchy feet, he also found a kind of comfort in the consistency of his work. It always started out with sound. A scream, a siren, a gunshot, an explosion, or a police code. Then, he’d find the source, and move toward it, toward danger, upstream against the waves of people who wanted to get away from the sound. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Currently, the sound he pursued was an alarm, a rapid ringing inside ‘Pharm-Haven’, a warehouse used by most of the Bludhaven-based pharmaceutical and medical organizations. Nightwing hadn’t seen anyone running away from this particular sound. The municipal trainyards nearby were the only sign of human life, and the night crew there were apparently used to hearing alarms. After forcing open a window and vaulting onto the catwalk, Nightwing switched to his night vision lenses, the empty darkness coming to life in front of him, green lines and shapes appearing to paint the scene before him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He considered searching for a way to shut off the alarm, but green blurs below him stole his attention. Three emerald figures stood around a mechanical lift, one more figure sat on top of the lift high above them, inspecting the containers on the nearly ceiling-high shelves. Dick silently crept along the catwalk, ears perked up for whispers and murmurs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hurry up, Paulie. Alarm’s been going off for two minutes.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shaddup shithead. You wanna bring back the wrong drugs?” Paulie, the man on the elevated lift, hissed down to Shithead, one of the figures below. Dick smirked as he continued down the catwalk. He got close enough to make out more details in the scene. “Okay, got em. Comin’ down.” The lift began descending to the floor, while Paulie held a container tightly in his hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The alarm continued to blare throughout the room, but the ringing had quieted significantly. </span>
  <em>
    <span>No time like the present.</span>
  </em>
  <span> He took a deep breath. “I’ll need to see a Doctor’s signature before I can let you have those.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blurry movement below Nightwing signified to him that the men were searching for his voice. Paulie looked upward just in time to expose his throat as Dick landed on the lift next to him. He crumpled in a gagging and coughing fit as soon as Dick’s fist found his adam’s apple. The container Paulie held bounced against the lift’s railing, then dropped through the air silently, landing with a </span>
  <em>
    <span>thud, th-thud. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh oh, was that you, Shithead?” A thug below him had been struck by the container on its way down, and collapsed with a grunt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Scatter!” One of the two remaining figures shouted, before both sprinted in different directions across the warehouse floor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now fellas, we agreed to play tag, not hide and seek.” Nightwing leapt from the lift, performing a graceful flip and rolling as he hit the ground. Continuing his smooth motion, he gripped an escrima stick on his back and flung it toward the back of one escaping thug. Just as he heard the satisfying </span>
  <em>
    <span>thwack</span>
  </em>
  <span>, the bell ringing stopped completely, and his vision became completely white. He groaned and covered his eyes, quickly switching away from night vision, but he was too late, only able to perceive white fog.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Get the drugs!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please don’t hurt me!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dick glared around the warehouse in search of the voices, blinking furiously in an attempt to regain his proper vision. The soft </span>
  <em>
    <span>whirr</span>
  </em>
  <span> of the descending lift buzzed in his ears. When the fog became less opaque, he could make out a blob in front of him, and reached back for his other escrima stick.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hol’ up, pretty boy. Wouldn’t want me to cut this guy up would you?” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Shithead’s voice.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please!” Two voices came from in front of him. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Hostage</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Nightwing continued blinking, his vision reaching a state of only partly cloudy. He could see the terrified face of a young man in blue, and the snarl of another young man just over his shoulder. </span>
</p><p><em><span>Security guard.</span></em> <em><span>Shithead.</span></em></p><p>
  <span>“Don’t hurt him.” Dick growled. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then do as you’re told.” The thug snapped back. Dick whipped his head behind him, toward  footsteps and a small grunt. Another thug in orange and black had lifted the container off his unconscious friend. “I said don’t move!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nightwing slowly turned back around, realizing that the young security guard had a knife to his throat. Dick raised his hands and closed his mouth. The shuffling feet of the thug with the container, and the soft </span>
  <em>
    <span>whirr</span>
  </em>
  <span> of the lift were the only sounds in the room. The shuffling eventually faded into silence, and Dick grimaced, knowing that he’d let them get away. </span>
</p><p><em><span>Civilian lives first. Every time. </span></em><span>He’d heard it a million times from Batman, and said it a thousand times to Hank. They were detectives. Chasing down someone who got away was what they did, and the extra work was always worth a human life.</span> <span>The lift reached its stopping point with a surprisingly loud </span><em><span>hissssss. </span></em><span>The thug with the knife jumped in surprise, taking his eyes off of Nightwing briefly to look toward the sudden sound.</span></p><p>
  <span>That was all Dick needed. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Thunk! </span>
  </em>
  <span>His escrima stick landed squarely on the forehead of Shithead. He had to be careful not to throw it at full strength, as a blow to the head like that could cause brain damage. Luckily, the softer sound </span>
  <em>
    <span>should </span>
  </em>
  <span>mean the thug was only knocked out as he fell backward to the ground.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The security guard stumbled forward, glancing back and forth between Nightwing and the fallen Shithead. “You okay, brother?” Dick asked gently. The guard bent over, resting his hands on his knees and gulping down deep breaths.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks to you. My god. I’ve worked here for a year and a half, and nothing like this has ever happened. What did they want?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good question, there… Calvin.” Nightwing read the name tag pinned to the guard’s shirt pocket aloud. “Let’s find out.” Dick removed Paulie from the lift, and invited Calvin to join him. As they ascended, Dick squinted down at Paulie, who wore blue and green, then to Shithead, clad in orange and black. “Paulie wears Whaler colors, but Shithead is in orange and black like the Orange Roses East...” he murmured to himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gang-bangers?” Calvin asked, peering over the side of the lift himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Looks like it, but the really strange part is that they were working together. ORE and the Whalers have been fighting over territory for over a year now.” Dick turned to the console of the lift, hitting the ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>Stop’ </span>
  </em>
  <span>button and observing the empty section of the shelf. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Not opioids or narcotics. What the hell is going on?</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Methylphenidate HCL?” Calvin piped up, also confused. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The generic name for Ritalin. The ADHD stimulant.” Another tone rang in Nightwing’s ear, and a blinking alert flashed onto his mask’s heads-up-display. He caught a glimpse of red and blue lights outside a window. “Looks like the police are here. You good to handle these guys on your own?” Calvin nodded. “Great. I’m late for a meeting.” Nightwing leapt from the lift once again, climbing up the shelves and onto the catwalk. Just before he reached the window, he turned to call out across the warehouse: “Pleasure working with you, Cal!”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>It's true. Dick and Hank broke up. :( Anyway, more on that later. </p><p>Sometimes, I find it tough to write scenes where Nightwing takes down a bunch of goons. It's such an essential part of urban superheroes like the Batfamily to beat down nameless thugs in alleys, warehouses, or on rooftops, but describing those scenes with only words is hard, considering I don't want to be too repetitive. Need to find more synonyms for thug, or give some of them silly names more often.</p><p>Writing struggles aside, what could Dick be thinking regarding the ORE and Whalers working together? And what do they need with ADHD medicine? Do they have a test coming up?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Gerard, I’m home!” Hank called to his roommate as he strode through the doorway. He heard no reply, but that didn’t concern him. He whipped out his phone and gave a few taps, kicking off his sneakers and sliding across the hardwood floor as music sounded from his bluetooth speakers. Hank danced his way over to the cupboard, swiping a can of fish food, and turned to the fishbowl on his island. “Hello Gerard. How was your day?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The blue betta fish still didn’t reply. In fact, Gerard the fish didn’t seem to recognize Hank’s presence at all. “Hmm. The silent treatment, eh? Look, I’m sorry about the fishing thing yesterday. If it helps, I didn’t catch anything, and I made Miles throw the one he got back.” The fish twisted in the water, swimming absentmindedly toward the bottom of the bowl. Hank chuckled to himself and shook the can gently above the bowl, watching as Gerard immediately swam toward the food flakes. Hank stepped back and looked around his apartment’s living room. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Wow. A living room.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He still wasn’t quite used to it. The scholarship from the Wayne Foundation had covered more than just his semester’s tuition and fees—it also came with a sleek, newly renovated apartment in Garden Square, just across the street from BCC’s campus. He thought back to his previous living space, a studio apartment in the cheapest building in Port’s Park. Now, Hank enjoyed a bedroom, two bathrooms, an open concept kitchen and living room, and a laundry room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All this and nothing to eat, Girard! Nothing but turkey sandwiches for the third night in a row!” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Hmm. Or…</span>
  </em>
  <span> Hank muted the music, but still heard the dull vibrations of bass-boosted speakers in the distance. He double checked the address that Jace had texted him. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Garden Square Apt 249</span>
  </em>
  <span>. The party Jace invited him to was occurring at a neighboring apartment. “You think they’ll have food?” He asked the fish. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Really shouldn’t make this into a habit.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Hank debated himself in his head, determining the pros and cons of attending the party. His stomach growled again. He checked his watch. 10:52 PM. In the past, that time meant that his night was only beginning. But now, he had nothing to do but sleep, and he didn’t feel tired at all. He waltzed to the window, peering out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A pink and black van cruised slowly through the parking lot, and Hank’s eyes followed it as it rolled to a stop a few apartment buildings away. A young woman stepped out of the van with several thin boxes in hand. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Pizza. Hot. </span>
  </em>
  <span>His neighbor’s party had pizza. He had been given an invitation. It was settled. Hank sniffed his sweatshirt. As usual after an evening shift at the Union, he smelled like coffee, with an undertone of dish soap. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hank strolled to his room, tossing his green sweatshirt onto his bed. The gray t-shirt he wore underneath the hoodie was protected from his </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘shift at a coffee shop’</span>
  </em>
  <span> cologne, and he figured no one would be sniffing his black jeans, so he kept both on. He fished a denim shirt (</span>
  <em>
    <span>Thanks again, Bruce Wayne) </span>
  </em>
  <span>out of his closet, and glanced at himself in the mirror. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He began buttoning the shirt, then shook his head, deciding to leave it open. Hank paused. It felt like something was missing from his reflection. This was a normal life, right? Worrying about your outfit on the way to a party? His stomach growled, and his reflection showed him a wry smile and an eyeroll. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Priorities, Duncan.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Hank slipped his sneakers back on, jogging briskly over to Apartment 249. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This was a much larger model of apartment, with several rooms instead of just a bedroom and a living room/kitchen. He slipped inside, and weaved his way through the crowd, in search of pizza. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Maybe this is a dick move…</span>
  </em>
  <span> Hank brushed away the thought when he walked around a trio of dudes chanting “Chug, chug, chug” to a beer-bonging fourth dude. Deep green eyes lit up as they focused on an open pizza box. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Bingo.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Hank casually glanced around the room before swiping a slice of supreme, and ignored the scalding cheese burning the roof of his mouth. “Hey!” Hank whirled around to the woman’s voice, eyes wide and mouth filled with pizza. Short blonde hair. Hazel eyes. Where had he seen her before? While the girl giggled, he continued to wrack his brain. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You look like you need a drink to wash that down, Henry.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>World History? No. Philosophy. VIVIAN! </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey Vivian.” He spoke around pizza, then swallowed quickly, displaying a sheepish grin. She laughed again and offered him a red plastic cup. Clear, fizzy liquid resided inside it. He hesitantly took it from her hand. “You didn’t put anything fishy in this, right?” He raised an eyebrow and offered a smirk. Vivian giggled again and quickly walked away to a cluster of other young women, all of whom echoed her laughter. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Hmm. Weird.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Hank didn’t know Vivian, but she didn’t strike him as one to try and drug him. He shrugged and took a sniff of the drink, smelling a cornucopia of artificial fruits. He decided to take Vivian’s advice, scarfing down the rest of the pizza, and washing it down with a swig. Bubbles tickled his tongue as he paced through the kitchen and into another living room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A table in the corner was filled with people playing some sort of card game. The room was lit by two dim yellow lamps. Two old, gray couches rested up against the walls. </span>
  <em>
    <span>So this is a college party.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Hank brought his drink to his lips and smiled to himself as he sipped it. A lemony taste covered his tongue, with just a hint of the burn of alcohol. Vodka, if he had to guess.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Everyone around him was his age, and held a cup, can, or bottle in their hands. His smile suddenly shifted to a grimace. For whatever reason, his eyes settled on a hand setting a green cup down on an end table. Another hand entered his vision, holding a small flask and using it to pour a clear liquid into the green cup for a split second. The first hand belonged to a strawberry blonde young woman. She had been looking away when the dark haired young man had poured </span>
  <em>
    <span>something</span>
  </em>
  <span> in her drink. Before Hank knew it, he was across the room, picking the cup up off the end table. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey bro, what did you just pour in here?” Hank demanded, raising his voice over the dull roar of the party. The brown eyes of the dark haired guy widened.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“What did you put in this drink?”</span>
  </em>
  <span>  Hank was almost yelling now, making his words short, choppy, and loud so that anyone could hear them. The party’s roar slowly faded into no more than a few hushed murmurs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you talking about?” The guy stepped toward Hank, who wasn’t even considering flinching backward.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m talking about the flask you used to pour something in this drink. It’s in your inside jacket pocket, left side.” Hank gestured with one hand, using his other hand to raise the cup in between his face and the dark haired guy. “What was it, bro? Some kind of extra flavoring? Is it cool if I try it? Or was it specifically meant for her?” Hank nodded to the strawberry blonde to his left. The remaining murmurs died down completely. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re making some serious accusations </span>
  <em>
    <span>bro</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” The guy’s face was contorted with rage. He was an inch or two taller than Hank was. “You want to go outside and talk about it?” The guy stepped forward again, and knocked the cup out of Hank’s hand. As the drink spilled onto the floor, “Kick his ass Jared!” was yelled by someone across the room. Hank grinned. He’d made Jared lose his cool. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Still got it.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Actually, I’m good right here, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Jared</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” He felt completely in control. “Look, I </span>
  <em>
    <span>hope</span>
  </em>
  <span> I’m wrong, and you didn’t pour some weird shit into a girl’s drink when she wasn’t looking. Feel free to prove me wrong in front of everyone.” Before Jared could respond, the strawberry blonde was standing at Hank’s side.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. You’ve got nothing to hide, right? Show us what’s in your jacket.” Jared’s eyes widened. Hank saw two bodies behind Jared move apart, and a familiar face appeared in between them. Hank grinned even wider when Jace Campbell, star cornerback of the BCC Raptors clapped a strong hand on Jared’s shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think it’s time for you to leave, brother.”</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>“Hey.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Jesus!”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Colleen Edwards, spun on her heel, stepped back, and drew her gun on Nightwing all in one motion. Dick smirked as he raised his hands in surrender. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, don’t be mad at me for being discreet. It was your idea.” Colleen narrowed her blue eyes and holstered her pistol, slowly running a hand through her caramel hair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Har-har. Wouldn’t be so funny if I </span>
  <em>
    <span>shot </span>
  </em>
  <span>you, would it?” Dick couldn’t help but grin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It could have been a little funny.” Colleen rolled her eyes and turned away from him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come on, we have work to do.” Dick glanced around the pier as he followed. Its perimeter was covered in yellow police tape, but no cars or flashing lights were present. He and Colleen were the only ones there. He raised his eyebrows in surprise as a blob on the ground ahead of them came into focus, sharpening into a man. Well, sort of. He used to be a man. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My god. What happened?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know who this is, right? Lane Vonn.” Colleen glanced at Dick, who said nothing. She continued. “His family wouldn’t say anything, but an informant of mine said he’s been missing for a few days. There are traces of blood over there,” She pointed to a cluster of dark spots on the cement a few feet away, “But none of it matched Vonn.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dick stooped to the ground to observe the body. Vonn’s white t-shirt and gray sweatpants were both ripped to shreds, and covered in burgundy stains. Dried blood. Very dry. Several days old.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“These wounds are several days old.” Colleen’s voice was closer to his ear. She’d joined him, kneeling on the concrete.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hasn’t been confirmed by the lab yet, but I’m betting he was killed almost as soon as he went missing. Bruises on his wrists means he was tied up, or bound in some way. Look closely at the wounds, though.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nightwing gently lifted Vonn’s shirt, observing the jagged marks across the body’s torso. “These look like…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bite marks. Similar to criminals who are apprehended by our K-9 units.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nightwing nodded. “Right, but unless you’re feeding those dogs something I know about, these are too big to be from a German Shepherd.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What, like a Great Dane?” Colleen raised an eyebrow. Dick furrowed his brow and stood up, puzzled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not sure. Trained dogs are taught to target exterior limbs. His arms and legs are chewed up, but they didn’t stop there.” His mind struggled to grasp pieces and fit them together. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Too big for a police dog… Not traditionally trained…” Colleen mused aloud next to him. “A wolf?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That was my thought, too, but wolves aren’t native to the region. And I assume a wild animal would’ve gone for his throat, which is only bruised.” Dick knelt down, carefully plucking a small piece of rock embedded in the gray sweats. It was nearly the same color as the pants, easy to miss. “Where could this have come from?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Colleen sighed and shook her head. “I don’t know. We didn’t find the body until six in the morning today. A jogger almost tripped over it. It was completely alone, no weapons, no trace of people except for those splashes of blood. I’ve been working to keep this contained all day. When the other mob families and gangs learn that the leader of the Vonn family is dead… Who knows. It could be chaos.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dick turned around, offering a serious reassuring look. “We’ll figure it out, we’ll make a plan, and we’ll take care of it. No need to worry.” Then he frowned, remembering his pit stop before meeting with Colleen. “Did your informant mention anything weird going on with any gangs? The Whalers or ORE?” Colleen matched his frown and shook his head. “Before I got here, I interrupted a break-in at Pharm-Haven. Four or five guys, some in blue and green, and some in orange and black.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A territory skirmish in a drug warehouse?” Dick opened his mouth, but Colleen continued, her blue eyes briefly brightening with realization, before darkening again in befuddlement. “They were there </span>
  <em>
    <span>together?</span>
  </em>
  <span> What were they trying to take?” Nightwing grimaced, looking down at the concrete.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They tried and </span>
  <em>
    <span>succeeded </span>
  </em>
  <span>in taking some ADHD Medicine. Ritalin, generic.” Dick focused all his irritation on his own boots. “I took most of them out, but one held a security guard hostage while the other got away with the drugs. I saved the guard, but—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey.” Colleen’s hand gripped his shoulder, just firmly enough to get his attention. He unclenched his jaw, raising his blue eyes to meet hers. “Shake it off, pretty boy. You saved a life, and you just gave me a lead. Like you said, we’ll figure it out.”</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>“H-he-here you go, sir.” The young man—legally named Perry, but called ‘Shorts’ by most of his ORE brothers—looked almost as pale as the larger man to whom he handed the box. Ray Douglas felt a small glow of relief as he processed that the job had been a success, and it was one of his brothers who carried the ‘deliverables’ as Apex had called them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ray gave Shorts a nod through the cracked open door, as White, the albino giant, closed it and gently set the container on the desk in front of Apex. “Thank you, White. Wow. He was scared shitless, huh?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Apex drummed his fingers on the desk, formerly Michael Casey’s desk. ‘The Office’, the Whalers’ headquarters, was a notorious rumor throughout the Bludhaven Underworld. The location was barely known to any, even among the Whalers themselves. Its security played a big part in their success. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“One thing I admire about you, Ray, is that your brothers clearly respect you, but don’t look like they’re about wet their pants when you walk in a room.” Apex waved his hand in the air, a look of contemplation on his painted face. “Fear is how a lot of things get done in this business, I suppose. But, hmm. I don’t want to overdo it. Employees perform better when they are focused, not scared. Maybe he was scared of </span>
  <em>
    <span>you,</span>
  </em>
  <span> White.” Ray raised an eyebrow, unsure of whether he was expected to interject.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After Casey fled town, his second in command, Quincy Hogan, quickly agreed to work with (for) Apex. That meant Apex would take ‘The Office’ for his own, and Ray would finally learn it’s location: inside a previously abandoned lighthouse on Spuyten Dyvil. He had to admit, it felt secure. Running things from an island on the outskirts of Bludhaven gave Apex natural defense from his competitors. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anyway.” Apex stood up from his seat and opened the box, retrieving a small container of pills. “Hmm. We’re going to need more of this. We might have to do some extra recruitment...” Apex trailed off, twisting the pill bottle in his hands. “As a kid, my family put on an ADHD medication. Honestly, I’m not sure if I </span>
  <em>
    <span>needed</span>
  </em>
  <span> the extra help focusing, but they wanted to give me every advantage they could. Have you ever taken one of these?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ray took a breath, a moment of thought before answering. “Lots of folks in the Zee Moores took pills with their breakfast, but not that kind.” Apex chuckled in response.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, excuse me, I’m not laughing at you, I’m laughing at me. Of course. Of course.” The man opened the pill bottle and allowed the capsules inside to spill onto the table. “There are a million different brands of this stuff now, but they all do the same thing. Stimulate your brain to produce more dopamine, a pleasure hormone, and to work faster. Side effects include curbed appetite and insomnia. Your brain is extra happy, so it doesn’t think about basic biological functions like eating and sleeping. That means it’s free to devote more attention to whatever else you’re working on—” Apex paused briefly, “Sorry, do you know this already? Am I boring you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ray shook his head slowly. “Go ahead.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well that’s about it. Children take this to focus in the classroom. Adults take it to get more done at work, or maybe even just stay awake.” Apex pinched a capsule gently between his fingers, observing it. “It’s amazing, really. An impressive attempt by humanity to fight nature, our basic instincts. But nature still wins in the end. Even though your mind doesn’t think you need them, go too long without food or sleep, and you’ll end up in the hospital. Or dead.” He tore his attention from the pill back to Ray. “What kind of pills did you take with breakfast, Ray?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Me? None. Mom wasn’t havin’ none of that.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I see. My mother always had to remind me to eat lunch, or else I would skip it. Did you ever skip any meals?” Ray raised an eyebrow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, yeah—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But not in the same way, I’m sure. You missed meals not because there was nothing you </span>
  <em>
    <span>wanted </span>
  </em>
  <span>to eat, but because there was nothing </span>
  <em>
    <span>to </span>
  </em>
  <span>eat. Am I right?” Ray nodded in response. “And yet, here we are. Both business leaders, on the cutting edge. Working together to push our people forward. Do you know why that is?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ray brought a hand to his chin, considering his response, but Apex didn’t seem to want to wait, waving him off. “Rhetorical question anyway—The Zee Moores have a shooting every other street. I wasn’t there, but I’m imagining: Many days—maybe most days—you were hungry, tired, and feared for your life.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Apex glanced at Ray for confirmation. Ray said nothing but gave a small nod. He was pretty close, at least. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Me? I grew up pampered. I never once worried about water, food, whether I’d have a roof to stay under. I…” Apex’s eyes darkened. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Almost </span>
  </em>
  <span>never worried about my safety. But </span>
  <em>
    <span>here </span>
  </em>
  <span>is why we’re in the same room right now, Ray: Humans are animals! At our very core! Just like all other animals, above everything else, we’re driven to find food, water, shelter—to stay alive so we can reproduce. That’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>nature</span>
  </em>
  <span>. You experienced nature firsthand, more so than many humans ever will. You adapted and you survived, which means you </span>
  <em>
    <span>evolved</span>
  </em>
  <span>. We’re going to make this city more like you, Ray.” </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Just so y'all know, this work will likely end up a bit more intense than previous ones, specifically in relation to its 'M for Mature' Rating. That means people will probably say "fuck" down the line, and things might get a bit horny. <br/>Probably nothing worse than you'd find in the comics, where they definitely say fuck (though they censor it) and do plenty of implied or explicitly discussed horny sex stuff. I feel confident I'll be able to keep everything tasteful, but I wanted to give fair warning. <br/>I hope we can all unashamedly embrace any expletives or horniness we may encounter, together. :)<br/>Thanks for reading!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Jace didn’t slam the door shut, but he definitely closed it forcefully after Jared willingly left the party. He turned around slowly and raised an eyebrow to Hank. “So you’re bad at parties, huh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hank snorted, and laughter bubbled from his chest. It was silly, but confronting Jared gave him a rush of adrenaline that he hadn’t felt in almost a month. He almost felt like he did when Scott took him to an amusement park and he rode a rollercoaster for the first time. Thankfully, his laughter spread to Jace, who clapped a hand on his shoulder. The pair stood up and sighed. “Let’s get a drink, yeah?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hank nodded, and felt another surge of appreciation that the party had returned to a dull roar after the brief moment of silence he caused. Jace nonchalantly retrieved two cups from a stack and poured vodka-sodas for himself and Hank. He bumped his cup against Hank’s with a </span>
  <em>
    <span>clunk</span>
  </em>
  <span>, then raised his own cup into the air. “To Hank Duncan,” Jace spoke as though he were making an announcement to the room, but no one was paying much attention beyond a brief glance toward him. “The protector of our mixed drinks!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hank shook his head and gave an exaggerated roll of his eyes, but he smiled as he brought his drink to his lips. He’d done his good deed for the day, and most importantly, no one had gotten hurt. “That was nice of you.” Hank turned around toward the voice, and a familiar pair of pale blue eyes greeted him. The girl he’d accidentally been staring at in the gym the other day. Who was also in his marine biology class that morning, supposedly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hank shrugged. “Just trying to do the right thing. Plus, I try to protect all women so I can stare at them.” He took another sip, smiling behind his cup when she laughed drily. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I guess you’ve earned it a little bit. Just make sure your eyes don’t pop out of your head while you’re on the treadmill. You could trip.” A sharp exhale through Hank’s nose shifted to chuckling, before he threw the brunette a sheepish grin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, I still don’t know your name.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mia.” Her tone was immediately businesslike, and she stuck out her hand for a handshake. Hank accepted with a smirk. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hank.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well Hank, like I said earlier, it was nice of you to stand up to that guy. I actually came over to drag my friend along and make her say thank you.” Mia stepped aside and revealed the strawberry blonde from earlier. “Hank, Sophie. Sophie, your savior.” Hank made a face at ‘savior’.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, thanks.” Sophie shifted her weight and glanced away from Hank before her brown eyes returned to him. “Sorry, I really </span>
  <em>
    <span>am</span>
  </em>
  <span> thankful, this is just weird. I don’t love being the center of attention.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, you got up in his face, yourself. Don’t need to say thank you to me. I get it, though. It </span>
  <em>
    <span>is </span>
  </em>
  <span> kinda weird.” Hank offered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> weird, but now everyone’s back to normal, and no one will remember what happened.” Jace entered the conversation without an invite, putting his arm around Hank. “These people are drunk! And how many of them even know your name?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah. Sophie, Mia, this is Jace.” The pair laughed, and the tension of the situation melted away. “I’m sure you saw, but Jace also helped kick that guy out of here.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For a sec I thought he was gonna try to hit Hank. Man, if he would’ve hit you… </span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh no.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Jace shook his head and cracked his knuckles. “Bad news. Bad news for him.” More laughter from the group. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You think he would’ve beaten you up?” Mia raised an eyebrow toward Hank. “You seemed pretty confident when he was in your face.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hank shrugged and took a swig of his drink, then shot her a grin. “Yeah, I was fired up, but really, I’m a lover, not a fighter.”</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Nightwing glared at the screen of his laptop. He’d been staring at the chemical makeup of Ritalin for an hour, and no inspiration had come to him about why the drug would be valuable enough for two rival gangs to join together to steal it. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Shouldn’t have let it happen in the first place.</span>
  </em>
  <span> He shook his head and punched in a new search query. Dick scrolled through images of canine bite marks, teeth, and jaws.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After Colleen left the scene of Vonn’s body, he’d taken some measurements. The only matching bite pattern was that of a wolf. But the closest recorded wolf sightings were in Maine. And his hunch had been right. A wild wolf was sure to attack Vonn’s neck and throat. Nightwing groaned and ran his hands through his thick black locks. He hadn’t even taken off his uniform or mask since coming back to his loft.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So I’m zero-for-two on the night for detective work. And oh-for-one on stopping break-ins.” Dick sighed. He perked up as an idea struck him, and pressed his finger to his ear, hearing a soft buzz.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, Timbo, you there?” Nothing but static for just a moment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s up, Dick?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do any kids you know at IU use Ritalin?” Dick absentmindedly tapped his mask to cycle through his vision settings.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh… Maybe? I’m not sure. Probably some. Why?” Tim’s voice sounded tired. Dick felt a pang of guilt for bothering him. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Why does he have his commlink with him?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I’ve got a puzzle for you, detective. If you’re up for it.” Dick heard a bit of shuffling, and a Tim clearing his throat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hit me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Four gangsters break into a pharmaceutical warehouse. They have enough time to grab all the ingredients for meth or heroin and get out, but instead they only grab a box of Ritalin.” Dick twirled a wingding between his fingers as he spoke. “The other catch is: the quartet is made up of pairs from two different gangs. Rival gangs, who’ve killed each other over territory before.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why?” Tim now sounded wide awake. “Why ritalin? Why the team-up?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Beats me, man. Why do you think I called you?” Dick chuckled to himself. He heard a long ‘hmm’ in his ear. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s a market almost everywhere for attention stimulants, so it </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> worth something. But like you said, compared to meth or heroin, even most narcotics…” Another hmm buzzed through the commlink. “I’m lost on the choice of drug. And the only theory I have for the gang-team-up is that someone is playing dress up. Maybe none of them were really affiliated, or maybe some of them chose to dress like their rival gang as some sort of cover story?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dick stroked his chin, considering Tim’s speculation. “Good stuff, Tim. I’ll keep you posted and let you know if you’re right. Thanks for being a fresh pair of ears.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No problem, Dick. Let me know if you need any more help. Have you asked—Ah.” Tim went silent for a moment, and Dick released a knowing sigh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I want to give Hank his space. He’s figuring out college, finding himself, just like you. How’s that going by the way?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, you know, it’s fine. I’ve met some good people. My roommate’s pretty cool. I think I’ll try to take some more challenging classes next semester.” Dick snorted at his younger brother’s words.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We certainly wouldn’t want you to be unchallenged… Do you miss the mask?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes and no.” Tim paused. “It’s nice to know that I can always go back to it. I almost don’t feel myself without it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dick’s eyes fell to the wingding in his hand. His mind wandered aimlessly, but he felt a small sadness tug at him. “I know what you mean, Timmy.”</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Hank, Jace, and their newfound friends wandered the party, chatting, dancing, and joining in a few drinking games. At some point, Hank stood up from sitting on the floor, and quickly reached his arm out to the nearby sofa for stability. A lithe hand wrapped around his wrist with surprising strength. “Whoa there, cowboy.” Hank followed the arm to the face of Mia, who was laughing at him with her eyebrows raised. He felt a goofy smile crawl onto his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think it’s time to get some water and head to bed.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You gonna be okay?” She didn’t let go of his wrist. He patted her hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Trust me, I’ve been through worse.” He bid goodbye to Jace, Sophie and Mia, and walked carefully to the other room, where he’d seen a package of disposable water bottles earlier. He yanked one free, unscrewed the lid, and thirstily gulped. By the time his thirst was quenched, the bottle was half full. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Or half empty? </span>
  </em>
  <span>Hank snorted to himself and slipped out the backdoor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The light chill of a Bludhaven September night helped him to sober up a bit more. Hank stretched his arms above his head and yawned loudly, suddenly tired. He gulped down the rest of the water and tossed it in the nearby recycling bin before he began the trek back toward his apartment. He shoved his hands into his pockets to warm them. The outside of the apartment complex was empty, save for a couple speaking in hushed tones just outside his own apartment. He frowned, but continued on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Out of habit, he whipped out his phone, realizing it had been on airplane mode. He frowned slightly and switched it back to normal. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Hope no one needed to get a hold of me.</span>
  </em>
  <span> His phone’s clock display read: </span>
  <em>
    <span>1:47 AM. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Had he really been out that long? His mind still felt a little fuzzy. His thoughts were interrupted by two quick buzzes, and he glanced back down to his phone.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Tim D: Today I had to comment on two of my classmates’ forum posts about the assigned reading. It was the hardest assignment I’ve had so far. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Hank laughed quietly to himself. He and Tim Drake had been in occasional communication since they both started college. It was nice to have someone to talk to who really </span>
  <em>
    <span>got it</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Hank was glad he didn’t have to go through the vigilante-to-college student transition alone. His fingers wouldn’t quite obey him, and tapping his response took a few tries.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Me: Just almost got in a fight at a party. Really not sure what I would have done if the guy tried to hit me.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Hank glanced briefly toward the couple he passed by, then back down to his phone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I came all the way here.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t ask you to come here.” Hank initially thought that this would be a ‘public display of affection’ situation, but the whispers he heard sounded more hostile. And one of the voices sounded familiar. He couldn’t help himself. He glanced back after passing them, and sure enough, he knew the owner of that voice. The short blonde hair of Vivian, who’d given him a drink at the party, was lightly tossed back and forth as she animatedly spoke to the blonde guy in front of her.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Hmm.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Hank hoped they weren’t fighting because of the drink Vivian gave him. He rolled his eyes at himself. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You’re not the center of the universe, Duncan.</span>
  </em>
  <span> He started up the steps to his apartment door, but froze when he heard an escalation in the argument. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>We broke up, Jake.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Vivian’s volume had risen, signifying that tensions were rising as well. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But I’ll be better now, Viv! We can be together!” Jake was slurring his words. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hank closed his eyes and took a long breath in, then blew it out even slower. Inside his mind, a whole courtroom drama argument was taking place. He could practically feel an angel and devil on each shoulder. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘You </span>
  </em>
  <span>know </span>
  <em>
    <span>what’s happening down there.’ </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘It’s none of your business.’</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘He’s drunk. He’s going to do something stupid.’</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘They’re adults, they can take care of themselves!’</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Let go, Jake!”</span>
  </em>
  <span> The argument ended as soon as Vivian’s words hit his eardrums. His legs moved for him, and suddenly he was approaching the couple, only a few feet away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey Viv, do you remember the reading assignment Dr. Warren gave us yesterday?” He looked between the glassy-eyed man and young woman who appeared a mix of startled and relieved. “My book’s right inside my apartment.” He nodded to the stairs he had just come from. “Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You didn’t.” Vivian said quickly, pacing toward him. “I can show you the reading.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey!” Jake grabbed for Vivian’s wrist again, stopping her in her tracks. Hank was still strangely stuck between in control and on autopilot. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let go of her.” The words came from Hank’s mouth, but he hadn’t planned them, nor the cold, dark tone he spoke them in. Jake released his grip and took a step toward Hank, partially losing his balance and ending up extra close to Hank’s face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re pissing mee offf.” Whatever he’d been drinking, it was the good stuff. His breath smelled almost like gasoline. Hank narrowed his eyes, then shifted his gaze toward a blur in his peripherals. He caught the brief image of Vivian’s face contorted with fear, and some more of the fuzziness in his mind cleared up. This guy wanted to fight him. And this time, there wasn’t a crowd of bystanders to dissuade him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another blur in the corner of his eye turned out to be Jake’s fist, but it was telegraphed, clumsy, and slow. Hank stepped back, avoiding it easily. Jake threw another punch, which Hank ducked.  He took another step back from Jake. “You wanna fight now fight!” The anger in Jake’s voice did not match the glassiness of his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I </span>
  <em>
    <span>don’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>want to fight.” Hank muttered. “I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>going to fight you.” Jake only came at him again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hank could almost hear a familiar voice coaching him. Right hook. Duck. Left jab. Block. Jake roared in frustration, lunging toward Hank with both hands open. Hank sidestepped and watched Jake tumble forward. He grabbed Jake’s left wrist to keep him from falling face-first on the sidewalk. Instead, Hank’s grip caused Jake to twist around and land on his butt, out of breath. He took hold of Jake’s shoulders and gently lowered him to lie down on his side.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t turn over, man. You’re gonna puke, and you don’t wanna choke on it.” Hank turned to Vivian, who had backed away from the one-sided fight. “You good?” She nodded quickly, but clearly looked upset.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m just gonna go home.” Vivian mumbled, and jogged away. Hank frowned. This wasn’t quite the post-good-deed feeling he was hoping for. Right on cue, he heard Jake wretch, and jumped away to protect his sneakers. Hank sighed in exhaustion, and pulled out his phone to call campus security.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <em>
    <span>Vvvrrrt. Vvvvvrrt. Vvvrrrt. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Dick groaned and rolled over, lazily slapping his mattress. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Stop. Buzzing.</span>
  </em>
  <span> His fingers found the drawer handle of his nightstand, and he yanked it open. He felt through an array of burner phones, finally finding the source of the vibrations. “Hello?” His voice was heavy with sleep.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you still asleep? It’s almost noon?” The surprised voice of Colleen Edwards rang in his ear. Dick grunted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know what I do all night, right?” After becoming too agitated to continue his detective work, Nightwing had returned to patrol the streets. Things were quiet for most of the night, other than one man attempting to burgle a convenience store. That being said, he still didn’t get back to the loft until past 5 AM. He heard Colleen exhale through her nose.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fair enough. But try to stay awake, because this is important: My informant told me that the Orange Roses East are </span>
  <em>
    <span>expanding</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Recruiting new members.” A brief pause. “Hello?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dick forced himself to sit up. “Sorry, I’m here. So what? You think they’re headhunting the Whalers? Stealing their newer members?” He raised an eyebrow in confusion as Colleen laughed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You need coffee, ASAP. I don’t know, but that’s not the point. They want new members, which gives us an opportunity to figure out what’s going on ourselves.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You mean go undercover? Both of us?” Dick stifled a yawn.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, but… I could jump through hoops of getting approval for an undercover op, and get fake ID’s made—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Or I could call a friend.” Dick nodded in understanding, though she couldn’t see. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Exactly. Welcome to the world of the wak—huh?” Dick suddenly squirmed, trying to fix his uniform top, which was twisted around his torso from a restless few hours of sleep. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Should’ve taken the damn thing off. </span>
  </em>
  <span>“What? It’s the middle of the day. Why? Okay. Send twelve badges. Call the EMT’s. I’m coming, too.” He knew they were directed at someone else, but Dick perked up at Colleen’s words, fully awake.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s going on?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Some sort of riot in the Central Business District, right outside Moore Field. Lots of people wearing orange, blue, and green.” He’d already shot out of bed, put on his mask, and tapped it to signal his bike. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“On my way.” <em>Looks like it was a good idea to sleep in uniform after all</em>.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>“It’s called neapolitan.” Hank explained, smiling as he handed the cone to Miles. It was already warm for a September Saturday in Bludhaven, and the clear skies and bright sun added to the heat, which meant ice cream was required. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What does that mean?” The nine-year-old’s curious brown eyes widened at the three-toned frozen treat in his hand. Hank frowned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t really know. I think it’s Italian? But that’s just what they call it when they put three flavors together.” Now, Miles narrowed his eyes at the cone, unsure. He thrust it back toward Hank.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You try it first.” Hank laughed at the boy’s demanding tone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, sure, since you asked nicely.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please.” Hank grinned, and tousled Miles’s coarse hair, though it couldn’t really be tousled. He licked the ice cream, making an exaggerated expression of bliss and giving a thumbs up. “Delicious!” He handed the cone back to Miles, who giggled and set to work on the ice cream himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Delicious!” He agreed, mimicking Hank’s inflection. Hank’s eye roll was interrupted by a jarring orchestra of tires squealing, metal crashing into metal, and glass shattering. The instruments of the tuneless music weren’t visible, but the sound came from within the parking garage to Hank’s right. Automatically, Hank grasped Miles’s hand firmly, pulling him away from the noise and keeping his own head on a swivel to search for danger. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Unintelligible shouting echoed from the parking garage, and seven men emerged from the entrance, clad in green and blue. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Whalers.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Hank took another several steps back from the danger, bringing Miles with him. The ice cream cone had been dropped onto the sidewalk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s happening?” Hank turned to the young boy, seeing fear creep into his warm brown eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not sure, Miles, but we’re gonna be fine. I promise.” He held out his pinky for a pinky-swear. Miles swallowed and nodded, and a small look of resolve injected itself into his scared expression as he wrapped his pinky around Hank’s. Hank already heard police sirens in the distance, which eased his anxiety only partially. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As his mind formulated a list of priorities, he gently moved Miles to behind him, keeping a firm hold on the boy’s hand. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Miles is your responsibility. The rest aren’t. </span>
  </em>
  <span>In front of him, Moore Circle, the heart of Bludhaven’s Central Business District, was rapidly devolving into chaos. The giant screens that lined the skyscrapers and parking garages were displaying gray static instead of their usual colorful advertisements. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hank heard screams as another group of men sprinted out of the entrance to Moore Field, home stadium of the Bludhaven Brawlers. The new party wore orange and black, the colors of Orange Roses East affiliates. Luckily, the Circle wasn’t as crowded as it could have been. Most of the shoppers, sightseers, and street vendors were well out of range of the gang skirmish.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are they </span>
  <em>
    <span>doing?”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Miles’s voice reminded Hank to focus on his priority, but his mind couldn’t help but second the young boy’s question. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Gang skirmish</span>
  </em>
  <span> may not have been an appropriate phrase to describe the scene before him. The Whalers and ORE members didn’t seem to care about each other much. Instead, they wielded bats, pipes, and hammers, and lashed out at cars, food stands, and flea market displays. The police sirens had grown louder, mostly drowning out the chaotic sounds.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hank absentmindedly took a step forward to get a better view, just as two more Whalers stumbled out from the parking garage. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Idiot.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Hank cursed himself, and Miles let out a startled sound. Hank stepped all the way in front of his ‘little brother’, raising his hands in a defensive stance. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His mind raced. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Tell Miles to run. But what if he runs into more of them? I should pick him up and run</span>
  </em>
  <span>—Hank couldn’t think any longer, because the second Whaler had seen him, and sprinted directly at him. Hank was remaining calm, Miles screamed causing him to flinch. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“HEY!” The voice from the garage entrance was quickly followed by a man in uniform. It looked like a police uniform, but Hank could tell it signified the garage’s security guard. “Get out of here, you two!” His voice was shaky, but it carried over the police sirens that filled the air. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hank took a step back, but paused as the Whalers turned on the security guard. The guard pulled a taser from his hip, but was too slow. One Whaler snatched it out of his hand, the other shoved him onto the ground. “Wanna be a cop, huh?” Hank stepped forward to help, but felt Miles squeeze his hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hank?” He instantly turned around to lead Miles away. He tuned out the guard’s cries for help behind him. Hank could not—</span>
  <em>
    <span>would not</span>
  </em>
  <span>—put another child in danger. The familiar roar of an engine pierced through the sirens, and Hank couldn’t help but look backward toward the sound. The Whalers also perked up at the revving engine.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A black and blue motorcycle plowed through one of the whalers and hurled him to the ground. A sharp inhalation relieved some of the tension in Hank’s chest. Nightwing flipped gracefully through the air and downed the other Whaler with a powerful kick to the torso. Hank exhaled, and felt even more stress float off of his muscles. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Dick’s here. It’s fine. It’s going to be fine.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Nightwing didn’t deliver a witty line, or turn around to say hi—instead, he bounded forward toward the action, followed by the police officer. Hank recalled an early lesson from Dick: Arriving late to the party meant you probably didn’t have time for quips. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nightwing!” All fear that was formerly present in Miles’s voice had shifted to awe. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You like Nightwing?” Hank looked down to Miles with a smile. Miles didn’t respond, or even look away from the hero of Bludhaven, but the wide brown eyes of his young friend told Hank the answer. He returned his own gaze to Dick, who danced away from a wild bat swing with a back handspring. Hank’s smile twitched into a mischievous smirk as he poked Miles in the shoulder. “You know, I can do that, too.” Miles gave him an incredulous look. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why didn’t you do it earlier then?” Hank only raised his eyebrows and quirked his head in response, unable to find an argument against Miles. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Long story, kid.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let’s get you out of here, come on.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>To clear some things up regarding Colleen Edwards and the Nightwings:<br/>I began writing this series just before Nightwing #64 (I think I had read the preview at that point). I basically just predicted and wrote my own head-canon for what would happen with Talon, Ric/Dick, and the Nightwings. I'm not going to do any retcon work in regards to the official-canon of what actually happens in the comics. I think we can all agree that Nightwing has had plenty of retconning from the actual DC Comics execs :)<br/>Thanks for reading! Feel free to leave questions, comments, reviews, predictions, etc!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Behind you!” Dick allowed himself to smirk and he sprung upward and curled into a backward somersault, completely clearing the thug who charged underneath him. He’d known the man wielding the tire iron was coming, but it was nice that Colleen was worried about him. Traditionally after that move, the attacker would turn around with a baffled expression, but the orange and black-clad man’s face remained contorted with a mix of rage and desperation. His irises were almost entirely overtaken by his pupils, just like the rest of them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nightwing’s smirk disappeared as he kicked the man’s knee and chopped into his collarbone, dropping him to the floor. He turned back to Colleen, who was standing atop a red pickup truck, scanning the area with her eyes and pistol, as she barked commands into her radio. A pair of officers across the road were backed up against their squad car, close to being overwhelmed by a cloud of orange, green and blue. Dick fired his grapple into the police car and throttled the speed to its highest setting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a powerful leap to keep himself off the ground, Nightwing shot through the air, extending his leg and feeling his momentum halt as his food smashed into the back of one of the larger Whalers. Thankfully, he didn’t have to worry about friendly fire, as the officers had pulled their batons for the close range altercation. Dick whipped out his own batons, pressing in with his thumbs and feeling a pulse of electricity surge into the escrima sticks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nightwing became a tornado, jabbing crackling ends of his sticks into any orange, green, blue, or black fabric he could find, taking extra care with the last two so he didn’t accidentally charge the officers or himself with 50,000 volts. A chorus of crackling, buzzing, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>thuds</span>
  </em>
  <span> rang out as the thugs hit the ground one by one. The larger man he’d zip-kicked on arrival to the brawl pushed himself off the ground, but Dick thrust toward him as he entered a kneeling position. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man grunted slightly as the stick was jabbed into his shoulder, but didn’t drop. </span>
  <em>
    <span>No crackle, buzz, thud.</span>
  </em>
  <span> In his state of surprise, Nightwing received a haymaker across his jaw. To prevent a neck injury, he rolled hard with the punch, spinning across the ground and ending in a crouch. Dick gritted his teeth and glared at his weapons. “Out of juice already? Knew I should’ve sprung for the extra long battery life.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He rose from his crouch and settled into a fighting stance, but the larger Whaler didn’t come at him. A crackling suddenly filled the air in stereo. Dick raised an eyebrow and double checked his escrima sticks, but they were still dead. The giant television screen mounted above the entrance to Moore Field had begun flickering between gray static and another picture. Nightwing took advantage of the distraction, performing a roundoff and hurling both escrima sticks at the man in green. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Spock! Thack! Thud. </span>
  </em>
  <span>The sticks rebounded off the Whaler’s head into the ground, bouncing back toward Dick, who snatched them from the air. The surround-sound crackling rose in pitch, piercing his eardrums. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dick whipped his head around in vain—he couldn’t determine a source for the sound, because every speaker in the circle was blasting the electronic whistle. Abruptly, Nightwing’s ears were relieved from pain, aside from a dull ringing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What's going on?” Colleen had stepped down from the truck, moving closer to him. Behind her, Dick noticed a screen that had flickered to life, no longer displaying fuzzy grayscale lines and dots. The image on screen was grainy and dark, but the shadows took the form of rooftops, with a familiar pair of figures running across them.  Dick instantly recognized the stars of this well-aged footage: Batman and Robin. The camera cut to a still grainy, but better lit shot, and he focused the short pants and pixie boots of his original uniform.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nightwing watched his younger, blurrier self spiral through the air and kick a ski-masked man in the chest. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Robin.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>A deep, synthesized voice boomed throughout Moore Circle. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Who’s doing this? </span>
  </em>
  <span>Dick’s eyes darted back and forth, still seeing no origin point for the voice, but realizing every screen around was featuring him. In perfect sync, the monitors blipped to display more footage of him. If he weren’t so confused, he’d have groaned at the sight of his original blue and gold Nightwing costume. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The screens were no longer in sync, each one flipping between different ages and uniform variations, but all Dick. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Nightwing.”</span>
  </em>
  <span> The electronically enhanced bassy voice boomed in stereo once again. Dick watched himself punching, kicking, dodging, running, leaping, flipping, throwing, swinging, saving, smiling, laughing, scowling. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Respected, feared, beloved…” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Simultaneously, black overtook every screen for just a moment before a new rainbow of colorful uniforms appeared. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Even imitated...” </span>
  </em>
  <span>The program had expanded from a one-man show to an ensemble cast of domino masks. Dick, of course, knew the faces behind them well. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The fury of Jason Todd, the focus of Tim Drake, and the technique of Damian Wayne were easily distinguishable, despite each of them proudly wearing an </span>
  <em>
    <span>R</span>
  </em>
  <span> on his chest. ‘The Nightwings</span>
  <em>
    <span>’</span>
  </em>
  <span> Police (and Firefighting) training stood out in their movement and behavior. The headstrong Colleen Edwards and her cautious brother Zac, the enthusiastic Malcolm Hutch, and the determined Alphonse Sapienza. Video and images of Hank Duncan, Kite, were sparse among the screens. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Where others fell…” </span>
  </em>
  <span>The monitors synced up again, half of them displaying still images of Zac Edwards and half showing Alphonse Sapienza. Silver blades were embedded in each man’s torso, surrounded by dark red splotches.</span>
  <em>
    <span> “He survives and presses on.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Suddenly, the screens became mirrors, displaying different angles of Nightwing in Moore Circle. Dick’s fists unclenched in surprise, and he spun in a circle, but couldn’t escape the sight of himself on each monitor. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“The hero of Bludhaven has risen above each challenge he’s faced. Streets, alleys, rooftops, offices, are all part of his hunting ground. His prey: muggers, gangs, white collar criminals, and corrupt officials are no match for his speed, his strength, his skill. He exists at the top of the Bludhaven food chain. The apex predator.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Moore Circle became silent, and one by one, each screen blinked to blackness.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nightwing instantly turned to Colleen. “Commissioner, I’m so sorry, about—” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not now, Nightwing. What was that? Some deranged home movie?” It was hard to believe, but her face reminded Dick of Bruce. Her expression was hard, her jaw set. Her willpower forced aside any emotion that may have been trying to escape through her eyes or mouth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I—I don’t know. You think I’d have something to do with that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.” Her hand began to rise to her face, but she shook her head and dropped it back down. “I meant—I just meant, </span>
  <em>
    <span>why?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Compiling years of footage and photos? Hacking into thirty different speakers and TV’s? Not to mention the gangs! Both Whalers </span>
  <em>
    <span>and </span>
  </em>
  <span>ORE showing up to do… what? What was the point?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dick sighed and slowly surveyed Moore Circle. Destruction was everywhere. Shattered glass, dented vehicles, storefronts and vendor stands were falling apart, if they hadn’t collapsed completely. “I wish I knew. It’s so…” An image of a bar booth with Donna and Wally briefly flashed into Dick’s mind, as the word came to him: “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Performative.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Theatrical.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A whole production.” Colleen nodded in agreement.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Basically terrorism. Whoever this is, they want to send a message through fear.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But for what audience? Everyone? Or—” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just me? I don’t know. I don’t really get the video-shrine, but it did creep me out, so I guess it kind of worked.” Nightwing frowned, and brought his hand to his chin in thought. “Top of the food chain…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“God. I can’t stand these weirdos.” Colleen was allowing more emotion to escape, now, groaning loudly. She thrust a finger toward Dick’s mask. “They were the worst part of wearing that. Give me petty thieves or murderers—simple motives: money, power, sex. I don’t have time to figure out some freak’s insane </span>
  <em>
    <span>message</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nightwing couldn’t help himself from softly chuckling. “I’ll help. Like you said, it comes with the mask. We don’t have to play film critic just yet—we have other leads. I’ll take care of our cover identities, and you talk to your informant to get us on the recruitment shortlist. Assuming the gangs are connected to our animal-loving movie producer, we can get more answers from the inside.”</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Fifty-four. Fifty-four exams lay neatly stacked on the desk of Dr. Rebecca Joyce. The math used to come to this conclusion was simple: She had graded zero exams, and she had fifty-six students in Organic Chemistry 202. Two had missed class yesterday, and she wasn’t worried about why. All her students had a digital copy of her syllabus. She kept her Makeup Exam Policy simple as well. The real world doesn’t give makeup exams. Everyone has to learn some time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Of course, it was only a matter of time before some kid missed a test and came in with a doctor’s note, which, according to Bludhaven Community College policy, she would have to accept, and provide an opportunity for a makeup. Giving her students the hard truth about do-overs was a mercy, really. Better to learn from receiving a zero on an exam than to learn the way she had. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Help!” Rebecca checked her new watch. It was 6:43 AM. The Quartz Chemical Solutions office was half a block away. She’d studied for eight years to go from Rebecca Joyce to Dr. Joyce, and even after that, she’d still have to start as a lowly lab technician. But Quartz was the most prestigious chemical plant in Arizona. From household cleaning products to aerospace fuel, they had left their mark on the entire world. “Help, please!” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Across the road, the young boy called out for the second time. He knelt next to a smaller, younger girl, who lay motionless on the sidewalk. Her watch now read 6:44 AM. If she kept pace, she’d get to the office by 6:46, fourteen minutes early. The girl across the street still wasn’t moving. Rebecca brushed a loose tendril of fiery red hair behind her ear. She had time. Plenty of time to check on the girl, call for help, and get to work ten minutes early.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“What’s wrong?” She knelt with the boy, taking a moment to catch her breath after her sprint (in heels) across the road.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I don’t know. She collapsed.” The boy looked only minutes away from panic. Dr. Joyce leaned down further to get a closer look at the girl, frowning. Her breathing was fine. No wounds or bruises visible. Eyes closed. The boy said she had collapsed… Was she narcoleptic? Dr. Joyce rose to one knee, and by the time she processed what the boy held in his hand, it was too late. The brick dug into her temple with a flash of sharp pain, and her world went dark.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Rebecca’s eyes snapped open, and she jolted to her hands and knees, wincing in pain. Her wrist was bare, no longer covered by her watch. Her purse was nowhere to be found. The boy and girl from earlier were both gone. All she wanted to do was help, but she’d been tricked. Played for a fool, and mugged. Her head throbbed, and she felt blood trickling down her jaw. By some miracle, the youth con-artists hadn’t taken her phone from her front pocket. Dr. Joyce blinked back tears as she dialed 911.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Rebecca gently touched her temple again, feeling the scar left from the doctor’s stitch work. She remembered seeing the needle in her peripheral vision as she got a call from her supervisor at Quartz, scolding her for being late on her first day and telling her not to come in for a second day. So instead of climbing Quartz’s ladder in the dry heat of Arizona, she was spending her time lecturing from a podium, and groveling at the feet of the New Jersey State Education Board for research funding. That, and sitting at her desk, glaring into a stack of ungraded exams.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dr. Joyce took a deep breath and decided to stop feeling sorry for herself, but before she could really begin reading through the first exam, her office door opened. The man standing in her doorway looked like the type who wouldn’t bother knocking. Dark hair, dark intense eyes, and olive skin. His sleek dark suit fit him impeccably—the only flaw in his outfit was the choice of a bolo tie. It was a popular choice for men back home in Arizona as well, but that only reinforced Rebecca’s distaste for it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello, Dr. Joyce? I’m Adam Copperhead. Pleasure to meet you.” Rebecca narrowed her eyes. She was in a bad mood before he barged in without knocking, but her irritation was partially halted by curiosity at the familiar name. Newspaper headlines drifted through her mind’s eye.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Copperhead like the Casino?” Her question was answered with a grin and a nod.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s right. But right now I’m actually coming to you as the board chairman of the Human Growth Haven… Formerly known as Haven for Humanity.” Dr. Joyce leaned forward in her desk with interest. Regardless of the name change, Human Growth Haven had been funding many of the recent changes to BCC. The renovations and research proposals they helped provide were one of the few upsides to uprooting her life to come to the school.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What can I do for you, Mr. Copperhead?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“First, you can call me Adam. I hate formalities like that.” His hand waved briefly to emphasize his distaste. “But second, I understand you’re unhappy with your job here at BCC.” Panic jumped into Rebecca’s throat. She may not have loved her situation, but she couldn’t afford being fired again. Did he have the power to fire her? Surely not. Meanwhile, Adam continued.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I read—well, I tried my best to read your doctoral thesis on adrenaline, or more accurately, epinephrine. It was fascinating. Brilliant. I completely understand being frustrated with your position. I’m sure your work could change the world, if you weren’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>still  </span>
  </em>
  <span>waiting on a research grant.” Adam grinned. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s kind of you to say. No offense, but I didn’t expect someone so ingrained in the gambling industry to be familiar with my work.” Dr. Joyce’s anxiety had mostly died down, but she still felt the pinch of tension in her shoulders. Adam chuckled softly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am a businessman, first and foremost. But at my core, I’ve always had a love for science. And both sides of me wanted to present you with an offer.” He pulled a flash drive out of his suit jacket. “I recently developed an interest in attention stimulants. I took a few different kinds as a child, and I’ve been doing some amateur research of my own.” Adam gently placed the drive on Rebecca’s desk. “I have a theory—it started out as a fantasy, really, but after a bit of digging I think there could be something there. Attention stimulants reduce the brain’s desire for basic human needs like food, so more focus can be placed on less animalistic concepts, like reading or math. But as you know, the stress we feel about meeting our basic needs generates adrenaline. Like all animals, humans are subject to the ‘fight or flight’ response when they think they’re in danger.” Adam paused, lightly gripping the chair in front of her desk and glancing her way. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dr. Joyce looked up from the flash drive and nodded. “Go ahead.” He settled into the chair and resumed his intense eye contact.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Medically, we use adrenaline to treat life-threatening allergic reactions, and restart hearts in cardiac arrest. It makes even domesticated animals dangerous when backed into a corner. It can channel our basic instincts into miraculous physical feats, like mothers lifting cars to save their children.” Adam’s intense gaze flickered for a moment, distracted. He took a quiet breath and continued. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What if, instead of suppressing those instincts, we found a way to reverse engineer something like Ritalin or Adderall? What if we flipped Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs on its head, and created a stimulant that taps into our animal needs? To harness the power of ‘fight or flight’?” Subconsciously, Rebecca raised an eyebrow, but her mind raced through places outside her present setting. Was there any validity to Adam’s idea? The answer would depend on the data of this flash drive. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Adam, I don’t mean to be rude, but what is your offer, exactly?” She spoke each word carefully. He threw back his head in a laugh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve been rambling, haven’t I?” He laced his own fingers and crossed his legs. “I would love for you to take a look at what’s on that drive, and if let me know if there’s any chance that my theory has legs. It’s all your choice, of course, but if it </span>
  <em>
    <span>does</span>
  </em>
  <span> seem worth researching, and you’re interested in doing the work, I would take care of all funding. Your resources would be virtually limitless.” He stood up slowly from his chair and adjusted his jacket. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know that before coming to Bludhaven, you had a job lined up with Quartz Chemical. I’m sorry it didn’t work out, but please know that I have tremendous respect for your brilliance. I’d love to be a part of the mark you leave on the world.” Adam turned and began toward the door. “No pressure, no hurry. My contact info is on the flash drive. If you’re interested, let me know. Thanks for your time, Dr. Joyce.” Adam Copperhead closed her office door, leaving her in silence. She sighed, running a hand through her thick red hair. Now she had fifty-four exams to grad, </span>
  <em>
    <span>and</span>
  </em>
  <span> a lot of thinking to do.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>“Pow! Wham!” Miles shouted in a stage whisper as he performed a shaky cartwheel on the sidewalk. Hank couldn’t help but grin at his ‘little brother’, but then his expression shifted to a frown, thinking carefully about Miles’s tendency toward imitating behavior he saw. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You fighting bad guys, there, kid?” Hank forced a gentle smile onto his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Miles. You know it’s not good to hurt other people, right?” Miles paused his heroics, his brown eyes studying Hank’s.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I know. But Nightwing saves people! He beat up those guys before they could hurt the police.” Hank stifled a groan of frustration, but his face must’ve betrayed his feelings, because Miles had stopped walking, his own face melting into a pout. “Is Nightwing not good?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, Nightwing is </span>
  <em>
    <span>very </span>
  </em>
  <span>good.” Hank spoke softly as he knelt to meet the young boy at eye level. “But what if everyone went around beating people up to solve their problems? What if </span>
  <em>
    <span>I </span>
  </em>
  <span>didn’t want to pay for our ice cream, so I punched the ice cream man?” Miles took another moment to study Hank’s eyes, putting a contemplative hand on his chin as he thought. Even during the serious ethics discussion, the sight was adorable.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t really think those are the same thing, Hank.” Miles said, matter-of-factly. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Damn kid is too smart.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, but what if—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If someone was going to hurt me, would you try to save me like Nightwing?” The question melted away any irritation Hank had.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey. I would </span>
  <em>
    <span>never</span>
  </em>
  <span> let anything bad happen to you. I swear.” Hank extended his pinky, and gave a small smile when Miles wrapped his own pinky around it. “But I would only hurt someone if it was the </span>
  <em>
    <span>only way</span>
  </em>
  <span>. We have to try everything else before we try punching and kicking. Is that okay?” Miles nodded, his cheeks stretching into a wide, hole-filled smile due to his missing baby teeth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Henry! Miles!” The two boys turned to the voice of Laura Carson, Miles’s mother. “You hungry?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mom!!” Miles ran toward Laura, embracing her in a hug. Hank returned Laura’s warm smile as he approached.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well?” Her dark eyebrows rose expectantly at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks, Ms. Carson, but I’m supposed to meet with Jan and Scott in a little bit.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’d better be careful, Mr. Duncan.” The mocha finger that she thrust his way was only in good fun, but it was one of those jokes that was also serious. The Zee Moores was not one of the areas advertised by Bludhaven’s tourism board. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I always will. By Miles! Be good!” He grinned as Miles waved, knowing he had no reason to tell the young boy to be good. Despite growing up in a place with a bad reputation, Miles was the picture of purity and innocence. Hank’s gaze surveyed the beaten down buildings around him as he walked, at some point during his talk with Miles, the sunset had reached completion, painting the sky a deep navy blue. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even in the dark, Hank was never nervous when walking through the Zee’s. Obviously, thanks to Nightwing, he was plenty capable of defending himself, but moreso, he’d spent most of his life walking streets like these. For whatever reason, wealthy people who didn’t live there were terrified by places like the Zee Moores. But most of the folks Hank met in underprivileged communities were kind and respectful. They’d return greetings, and offer their own once they got to know you. Miles and Laura were perfect examples. A buzz in his pocket disrupted the quiet night. Hank pulled his phone to check the time, and his smile widened at a text from Scott Daniels. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“See you soon at the Union?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Keep your shorts on, legal guardian. I’m on my way.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Right after Hank tapped the </span>
  <em>
    <span>SEND</span>
  </em>
  <span> icon on the phone’s screen, he stopped in his tracks, slowly turning in a circle. He couldn’t see anything out of ordinary, and no sounds arose over the soft police sirens. He was alone on the sidewalk, but a tingling on the back of his neck kept his tense muscles from relaxing. Hank forced himself into a moment of total stillness, aside from his eyes slowly moving side to side, but seeing no movement in the dim moonlight. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Relax, Duncan. You’re just freaked out from the riot earlier today.</span>
  </em>
  <span> With effort, Hank exhaled slowly, pushing some of the stress out of his body. Just as he turned to walk forward, a sound behind him propelled him to twist into a fighting stance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey.” The sight of a familiar green and brown tunic threw Hank off balance, but the hooded woman caught him gently as he stumbled toward her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jesus, Aubrey! You could say hi </span>
  <em>
    <span>before</span>
  </em>
  <span> sneaking up on me.” Hank’s anger and embarrassment were swept away as soon as his old friend pulled back her hood, revealing silvery eyes filled with mischief. She pulled him into a hug.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, you </span>
  <em>
    <span>almost</span>
  </em>
  <span> noticed me. I figured that was enough.” Aubrey’s smile was bright when she retracted from the hug. Hank hadn’t seen her smile like that since they were kids. “Cute kid, by the way.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hank chortled quietly and shook his head. “Yeah. Too cute, too smart. </span>
  <em>
    <span>And </span>
  </em>
  <span>he knows it. A recipe for disaster.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Reminds me of someone.” She murmured quietly, with another glint in her eyes. “I’m happy for you, Hank. Proud of you. Tanner would be proud, too.” Hank was very aware of her hand touching his jaw. Warmth spread from his face to his chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How’s your knee? Where have you been?” Hank suddenly felt filled with concern, brushing a shiny strand of pale brown hair behind Aubrey’s ear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s fine. I’ve been… around.” His eyes narrowed slightly, as hers broke eye contact for a moment. “I’ve been making some changes. We do more research now, only go after people who are involved in illegal activity.” Hank was pleased to hear that she was making more of an effort to stay on the right side of things, but something in her expression made him frown.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s up? What’s wrong?” He prompted, and his eyes were once again met by shiny silver ones.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, we’ve run into... sort of a network of white collar criminals. And we found a lot of leads connected to the same place: Happy Harbor.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You mean in Rhode Island?” Aubrey nodded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re moving there tomorrow—tonight, really.” Hank felt confused. Until only a couple of months ago, he hadn’t seen Aubrey since they were thirteen. Now, he hadn’t seen Aubrey since she helped him escape from being held captive by his parents. She hadn’t been in his life consistently for a long time, but here she was, telling him she was leaving it again. At least five different emotions battled each other in Hank’s mind. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re leaving. For... a long time?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not sure. Maybe.” Aubrey’s fingers brushed up against the small scar near his temple, covered by his hair. How was she able to move so dexterously, so gently? “But I wanted to say goodbye.” She didn’t physically pull his face down toward her, but her fingertips, her eyes, and the scent of cinnamon drew his lips toward hers. The ginger brushing of lips quickly became a deeper kiss. Hank snuck one hand underneath her cloak and rested on the small of her back, the other entangling itself in her soft hair. He felt Aubrey’s arms wrap around the back of his neck, and at that point, pretty much everything else in Bludhaven could’ve disappeared, as far as he was concerned. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aubrey murmured something against his lips, and he pulled back to look into her eyes. “I… I have to go.” Hank nodded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know.” He wanted to say something more, but he wasn’t sure what. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’ll miss you? Text me?  </span>
  </em>
  <span>Nothing seemed right. He felt the thief brush her lips against his cheek, so tenderly that it burned him, somehow. Her silver eyes flashed before they were obscured by her hood again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bye, Hank.” He almost reached for her arm, but as quickly as she had left the burning kiss on his cheek, she’d silently melted back into the shadows of the Zee Moores. Hank stared into space for an unknown amount of time. For a moment, Aubrey’s warmth and touch had evaporated all his tension, but now his muscles tightened again. The burn on his cheek had distributed itself evenly throughout his body. Finally, Hank stretched his neck to look up at the full moon, and sighed. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Plenty of time to cool off on the walk back to the Union.</span>
  </em>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>“The fuck you think you’re doin’?” Dick Grayson, or in this instance, Rob Malone, refused to flinch at the harsh words. It wasn’t too much of a struggle, as they weren’t directed toward him, but toward the man to his left. “Who told you you could wear those colors?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man stuttered for a moment, adjusting the sleeves of his orange jacket. “I was just, I thought the colors—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Those are Orange Roses East colors. Worn by me, and my brothers and sisters. We’re looking for new membership, but you haven’t earned those colors yet. Get out.” The words of the man who introduced himself as ‘Shorts’ were cold. Dick/Robbie strained to suppress the urge to roll his eyes. </span>
  <em>
    <span>So dramatic</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “I can take it off!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can leave on your own or I can help you leave.” Shorts’s harsh words were apparently not just for show, as the man left Dick’s side, hanging his head and walking toward the stairs. Shorts didn’t even bother waiting until he left. “Aight. The rest of you. names. Like I said, I got another name, but my brothers and sisters call me Shorts.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shorts glanced expectantly toward Colleen Edwards, or, rather: Crystal Parker. If Dick just glanced at her, it’d be easy not to realize she was his friend. Her cropped t-shirt, black leather jacket and light wash jeans were far more casual than anything he’d seen the police commissioner of Bludhaven wearing. “Crystal.” She held eye contact perfectly, and kept her face stony. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shorts nodded and stepped to his right. The man between Dick and Colleen casually ran a hand over his bleach-blonde flat top. “I’m Dray.” Dray gave a smirk, and Dick almost mimicked it. </span>
  <em>
    <span>If he wasn’t trying to join a gang, I might say I liked this guy. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Shorts showed no sign of being impressed, and turned his head toward Dick.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Rob Malone.” Dick kept his hands in the pockets of his gray jeans, barely nodding toward Shorts. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Great.” Shorts gestured around the room. “So y’all are wonderin’ why the fuck you had to come to a covenience store basement for this. And I’ll tell you. The ORE didn’t get to where they are by being stupid. We play it smart and we play it fast. Stay ahead of the game, ahead of the competition, and ahead of the Five-Oh. You don’t expect a gang to do their recruiting below a drug store, which is exactly why we do it. Any questions?” Dick had spent enough time talking to criminals to know that Shorts wasn’t actually inviting Rob, Dray, or Crystal to speak. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good. The less questions the better. Maybe one day, if you think it’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>real</span>
  </em>
  <span>  important, you can ask one. But for now, you’ve got to prove yourself.” Shorts waved his hand toward the stairway in the corner of the room. “Like I told that dude, you gotta earn your colors, impress me. I got an opportunity for you to impress me. Lane Vonn is dead, and his family is making some changes.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They set up a drug lab in the narrows. You’re gonna take it for the Roses. Take care of whoever’s in there and make sure the Vonns know that all of the Narrows belong to ORE.” Shorts finished speaking rather abruptly. Dick kept his eyebrows from rising while Shorts looked between the three of them carefully, before placing a scrap of paper in Colleen’s hand. “Get going.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>As always, thanks for reading. The pace should be picking up in the next few chapters. Hope you're as excited as me!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was a short, quiet trip to the address on the piece of paper that Colleen received from Shorts. The beat-up junker Dick had recently purchased from an estate sale was parked a few blocks from the worn brick building. The front door, and all street facing windows were boarded up, but Dick quickly vaulted over the chain link fence guarding the bordering alley, finding an exposed window. </p><p>Dray volunteered to pick the lock, and Dick watched Colleen’s face struggle to remain patient as their new companion worked. Her eyes met Dick’s, and he did his best to convey more reassurance than chiding in the look he gave her. She rolled her eyes quickly, but winked at him in response. Dick forgot his suppressed grin when the lock of the window clicked, and Dray quietly slid it open and stepped inside the building. </p><p>No lights were on in the hallway they entered, but a dull murmuring and a dim glow provided the trio with direction. Upon reaching the open doorway, Dick instinctively began moving, until a hand on his shoulder stopped him. Colleen remained silent, but her eyes, and the slightest shake of her head told Dick all he needed to know. <em> Wait. </em> She’d been dubbed leader by Shorts. DIck nodded and flattened himself against the wall next to the doorway. The volume of the scene in the next room was low, but he could just make out the hiss of open flames, and the bubbling of some sort of liquid, and muffled voices.</p><p>“You done yet Joe?” </p><p>“What’s the fuckin’ rush, Tommy?”</p><p>“Aye! Shut up!” A third voice hissed. “We haven’t done this hard shit before, so you idiots better focus all your brainpower on it.” From the front of the line, Colleen looked back at Dick and Dray, holding up three fingers. Three men inside. Dick almost burst into the room without knowing what he was up against. </p><p>The brief sound of a lighter flicking ablaze was interrupted: “Dammit.” Another unique voice caused Dick to raise his eyebrows at Colleen and hold up four fingers of his own. “Where’re high school girls gonna get the money to make this worth it for us anyway?” Dick’s eyes narrowed, and anger clouded his mind, preventing him from understanding the answer to the fourth voice’s question.</p><p>Dick put down three of his digits, using his index finger to point to his own chest. <em> I’ll go first. </em> Colleen nodded in response. Dick took a moment to be still, aside from inhaling slowly through his nose. Then, he moved, as he’d done thousands of times before.</p><p>Just like when he was a boy, he was through the doorway and across the room before its inhabitants could react. Unlike the four men in the room, Dick’s eyes were not slowed by surprise. In fact, they were accelerated by a natural instinct for reading people, as well as years of training from the most formidable combatant on Earth. <em> One and two, sitting at table. Three sitting on couch. Four in far corner. </em></p><p>Now, with the strength of a man, Dick Grayson caught hold of Three’s shoulder and used him as a vault, flipping over him delivered a powerful right cross to the jaw of Goon Four in the room’s far corner. Dick felt the other men react, turning toward him, just as he’d planned. He remembered that in this moment, he wasn’t Dick Grayson or Nightwing, hero. He was Rob Malone, Orange Roses East recruit. To stay in character, he made a less efficient, but more brutal move than a blow to Goon Four’s solar plexus, instead opting to grip his throat and thrust the back of his head into drywall. </p><p>As always, Dick held back, his compassion overshadowing any intention of evoking fear. Nevertheless, his work did the trick, and Goon Four crumpled to the ground. Three, mostly unintelligible shouts came from behind Dick, and he turned to see two thugs engaged with Colleen and Dray, while one fled to the hallway in terror.</p><p>Colleen swiftly disarmed her thug, and swung the pistol she took from him into his temple, dropping him. Dray was having a bit more trouble, but before Dick or Colleen could move to help, Dray and the man wrestled each other to the ground. Dray managed to get the upper hand, gaining leverage and pinning the man underneath him, but crashing into the table in the process. An open flame and a measuring cup of mystery liquid spilled from the table onto Dray’s back, lighting his black denim jacket aflame. </p><p>Dray shrieked and flailed, bumping into the table again, and collapsing on the ground. Dick was able to rip the rough, thick blanket from its resting place on the couch and tackle Dray to the ground. He smothered Dray in the blanket, patting at his back furiously, while Colleen fired two shots at the fleeing thug. Dick had seen her shoot before. From this range, the only way she’d miss is if she did so on purpose. <em> Warning shots</em>. And the man would deliver the warning to the rest of the Vonns. </p><p>Dray’s shouting had stopped, but his squirming had shifted into a more focused movement. He pushed himself up, the blanket falling off and revealing his charred jacket.</p><p>“You good?” Crystal Parker’s voice remained hard, but Colleen Edward’s face was only slightly scrunched with concern. </p><p>“Yeah. Thanks.” Dray coughed, nodding toward Dick, who stood up and offered him a hand. Behind Dick, the man he’d left in the corner stirred. Before he could get up, Colleen was pointing her newly acquired pistol in his face. </p><p>“We’ll be back soon, and you’ll be gone. Got it?” Fear flashed in the man’s eyes, and Colleen barely waited for a grunting reply to escape the man’s mouth before driving the butt of her gun into his forehead, returning him to the land of the unconscious. Dick had to hold back a smirk at Colleen’s performance. Dick was a performer before he’d ever donned a mask, and he had been undercover plenty of times. Robbie Malone may have gone by Rob, nowadays, but it was more or less the same old song and dance. </p><p>Colleen, on the other hand, had a little less than a week to get into the role of Crystal Parker. Plus, Shorts had thrust her into the spotlight immediately as the leader of this little group project, and she stepped up flawlessly. When she turned back to Dick and Dray, she displayed a perfect mix of police commissioner authority and street rat paranoia. “Let’s go.”</p><hr/><p>Hank glanced from his textbook to Mia’s blue eyes. “Here we go. Round four. What is: <em>a single-celled alga which has a cell wall of silica? </em>” She dramatically flipped a strand of chocolate hair over her shoulder, and flashed a grin.</p><p>“Diatom. Now:” Her gaze shifted to her own textbook and altered her voice to imitate a sports announcer. “A<em> type of single-celled organism that can create its own food is…” </em>Hank rolled his eyes but couldn’t prevent the smirk that curled his lips.</p><p>“Autotrophic Protist. Algae.” </p><p>“Hey nerds. We’re trying to work over here.” Across the small table in the BCC Library, Jace Cambell’s narrowed brown eyes peered over the top of his ‘The Art of Composition’ textbook. </p><p>“We’re working too!” Mia protested.</p><p>“Sure, we’re all working.” Sophie Abernathy shot a playful glare of her own across the table. “But some of us are working on Calculus Three and others are working on a Marine Bio game show.”</p><p>“It was your idea to meet at the library, Sophie.” Mia shot back, then had to stifle a yawn. </p><p>“No, don’t—aagghh!” Jayce was overtaken by his own yawn before he could finish his sentence. The contagious physical response spread to Sophie. Hank chuckled and glanced at his watch.</p><p>“What? 1:04 AM and you’re all tired already?”</p><p>“And you’re not? We were all at the gym at five in the morning.” Mia Beckett raised an inquisitive eyebrow toward Hank, who shrugged. </p><p>It had been a while since he’d had such a long day, but somehow, staying awake for so long had taken his body back to the days when 1 in the morning was halfway through his night of running along rooftops with Nightwing. Hank felt his foot tapping on the carpeted floor, desperately trying to expend the energy he had.</p><p>“I am both an early bird and a night owl.” A <em> pfft </em> sound came from Jayce’s lips as he rolled his eyes.</p><p>“You’re a barista at a coffee shop, where you get free caffeine.” Hank could only respond with a hearty laugh. It had only been a few weeks since Jace and Hank had gotten acquainted with Sophie and Mia, but the quartet had become fast friends. At the gym, lunch, football games, or studying, they had effortless fun together. It almost reminded Hank of his friend group from high school: Will, Kenzie, and Liz. </p><p>Hank felt some of his energy dissipate at the thought of Elizabeth Carter. He was still unable to shake the guilt of feeling as though Kite had taken away her opportunity for a normal life. <em> That’s over. Liz has had plenty of opportunities to reset, and start a vigilante-free life. And you do, too. </em></p><p>“I didn’t know you worked in a coffee shop!” Sophie’s question and excited smile made Hank rub the back of his neck. “Where do you work?”</p><p>“More importantly, how do we get in on this free caffeine?” The twinkle in Mia’s pale blue eyes forced a grin onto Hank’s face.</p><p>“Well the secret’s out, and now it’s just a matter of time before you all only like me for my coffee.” Hank gave an exaggerated sigh, propping his chin up with his fist and gazing out the window as he heard a chorus of groans around the table.</p><p>“God. You’re worse than Jeremiah Gold.” A light flick on the back of his head caused Hank to turn back to Mia. </p><p>“Who?”</p><p>“What? You don’t know Jeremiah Gold?” Sophie closed her textbook, her eyes wide. Jayce’s eyes met Hank’s briefly before he gave Sophie a confused look.</p><p>“Is he like a student here?” </p><p>“You guys haven’t seen ‘<em> Golden Years’!?” </em>Mia placed her hands on her head in hyperbolic shock. Hank and Jayce exchanged another questioning look, shaking their heads almost in-sync. “Okay, I know what we’re doing tomorrow.”</p><hr/><p>“They’re gone, Shorts. All their stuff is, too. The place is completely empty.” After an eternity of waiting, an ORE member had returned from his visit to the former Vonn drug lab. Apparently, the Roses wanted to double check Colleen, Dick, and Dray’s work. Shorts gave a few brief claps of his hands.</p><p>“Well, good work kids!” He seemed to be in a better mood than before. “The Whalers took care of the other labs in the area, so as soon as we move in, the Narrows will officially belong to us.”</p><p>“Us meaning ORE and the Whalers?” Dick repressed a wince at the question, asked by the headstrong Colleen Edwards moreso than her cover of Crystal Parker. Shorts narrowed his eyes in response.</p><p>“<em>Us </em> doesn’t mean <em> you </em> yet. ‘Specially not if you ask too many questions.” Dick couldn’t help himself this time. Since the beginning of his life, whether he was working with his fellow circus acrobats, Batman, the Bat-family, Spyral, or even Kite, he’d been trained not to leave his partner hanging. </p><p>“Hey, look, man.” Rob Malone began, searching for the correct words. “I’m kinda with her. I wanna know what I’m getting myself into. Am I joining the Roses or the Whalers? Or both?”</p><p>Shorts closed the gap between them quickly, getting into Dick’s face, his forehead nearly touching the brim of Dick’s baseball cap. “Who said you were joining anything yet? I told you before, you’d better not be asking questions unless they’re <em> real </em>important.”</p><p>“Shorts.” A calm but firm voice sounded out from behind Shorts. “Back off. They did good work, and they’re right. They’re asking us who we are. I’ll tell them that.”</p><p>Shorts stepped backward and then to the side, revealing a dark-complexioned man with golden-brown eyes. Judging by Shorts’s reaction, and the other Roses members in the room, this man, clad in all black, was in charge. The golden-brown eyes slowly drifted over Dick, then Colleen, then Dray, before the man turned around. “Come with me.” </p><p>The followed him through a door at the back of the basement, leading into some sort of den or living room. Two couches and a loveseat surrounded a short, square coffee table. A personal desk lay in the corner of the room, with a folded laptop sitting on top of it. The entire room was spotless, and smelled subtly of lavender.</p><p>“I’m Ray.” The man’s voice remained in the calm, firm tone from earlier as he slowly took a seat on one of the couches. In the strangest of ways, Ray reminded Dick of Alfred Pennyworth, who always kept his inflection, and his choice of words cool and collected, even when fiercely arguing with Batman.</p><p>“Crystal.” Colleen was first to answer, and first to sit down on the loveseat, alone. Dick and Dray each took different sides of the remaining open couch. Ray nodded gently and glanced toward Dray.</p><p>“I’m Dray.” </p><p>“Rob Malone.” Dick nodded, answering just as Ray’s golden-brown eyes met his. </p><p>“Well. Nice to meet you.” Ray paused for a few seconds, but his control over the conversation was not hindered by his silence. “You have questions about the Orange Roses East. Like I said, I am happy to tell you who we are. But first I’d like you to tell me who you really are.”</p><p>Ray’s eyes flitted from Dray, to Colleen, to Dick, who ignored the slight increase in his own heart rate at the question. “What’s your story?” Ray questioned, his gaze settling on Dray.</p><p>“I—I” Dray stared into the hole that had been burnt in his jacket’s sleeve. Dick felt a pang of sympathy for the young man. He must have still been shaken up from catching fire earlier.</p><p>“You’re fine. Calm down. Think. Then speak.” The calm of Ray’s voice seemed to spread to Dray, who took a slow breath. </p><p>“That house where we went… It’s not far from where I grew up. All my life has been in the narrows.” Dray now spoke slowly, evenly. “In my apartment building, there was an older kid. Probably 10 years older than me, named Tyshawn Hopkins.” Dick noticed the slightest bit of movement in Ray’s eyes as Dray continued: “He was a smart kid. Nice kid. He’d watch me sometimes when my moms went to work. Then one day, he wasn’t in the Narrows anymore. People said he’d joined a gang, ‘The Roses’. Some people were mad at him. Maybe because he joined, or maybe they were jealous that he got out of the Narrows. But he’d still come back every once in a while. On Sundays. He’d visit his moms, bring her things.” Dray became quiet for  a moment. “I just figured if he could get out, then maybe I could, too. And I could help take care of the people back there.”</p><p>Ray nodded slowly. “I knew T. He was a good friend.” He said nothing else, but turned to Colleen, who took her own deep breath.</p><p>“Not much to tell, really. My parents left me alone every day in the Moores. Wasn’t their fault, they had to work. I got into trouble when they were gone. And I guess I’ve been getting into trouble ever since.” As she spoke, she gave a small smile, and reached behind her head, kneading her caramel hair into a low ponytail. “Figure I should find a way to get paid for my trouble.” Once again, Ray nodded slowly in response.</p><p>“You were in charge today, right? Good work.” Finally, Ray turned his expectant gaze to Dick.</p><p>“My parents weren’t around when I was a kid, either. They died, and left me with my uncle in Gotham. He was the kind of guy everyone in Gotham knew, and because of that he knew a little bit of everything going on in Gotham.” Dick adjusted his cap, and allowed a small smirk to play on his lips. “He pulled me into the game with him. We did a little bit of everything. Hits, deals, information. We just followed the money. But now… Well, I felt like I had to strike out on my own. And to be honest, I’m a little unsure of myself, alone, you know?” He glanced down toward the worn knees of his gray jeans. “I’m looking for some support. Some stability. So here I am.”</p><p>“Roses are brothers, and sisters.” Ray spoke quietly. “We always support each other. As for <em> stability… </em> It depends on your definition of the word. We got where we are by changing, adapting. That’s why we’re working with the Whalers, now.” Ray abruptly stopped, a soft chuckle rumbling from his throat. “Shorts puts on a tough act. Says you can’t ask questions. But to keep changing, adapting, we <em> need </em>questions. Just make sure they’re good ones.” Ray stood up, using a gentle hand gesture to command the other three to remain seated. He walked to the desk in the corner of the room and retrieved three small cell phones.</p><p><em> Burners. </em> Dick had a stash of similar looking brick-phones in his nightstand. “You did good work today. We’ve got some business to take care of in the next few days, but when that’s done, look for a text with a time and location. Be there on time.” Ray handed each of them a phone, and without another word, returned to his desk, sitting down in the chair and giving the mouse a few clicks. </p><p>A feeling of Deja Vu took Dick back to so many nights in the Batcave, where Bruce had done the same thing. Dray was already leaving Ray’s room, and Colleen caught Dick’s eye, raising her eyebrows. He gave her a small shrug, pocketed the phone, and followed her out of the basement.</p><hr/><p>For the fifth time that evening, Hank thanked Bruce Wayne for providing him with his apartment. In high school, he’d never have dreamed of inviting friends to his crappy studio apartment. Heck, depending on the day, it could’ve been dangerous to do so. The closest he’d come to having people over, Will Bennet happened to see part of it through his cracked door when Will came with Hank to grab a change of clothes.</p><p>But here he was, with three new friends sitting in his living room while he stood at his kitchen’s island, finishing his preparation of a bowl of guacamole. “So Soph,” He called across the room, “Are Jayce and I gonna be okay just jumping into this show? Didn’t you say it’s on season four?”</p><p>Sophie waved a hand dismissively at him as she continued hooking her laptop up to his TV. “You’ll be fine. It’s a soap opera. Half of every episode is a recap.”</p><p>“<em>‘Golden Years’ </em>is <em> not </em> just a soap opera! It’s art.” Mia had stood up, illustrating her passion for the program with a flourish. “It’s the story of Jeremiah Gold, who lost his parents in a tragic fire at the age of eight, but inherited their billion-dollar insurance company. But on his wedding day, when he’s about to marry the love of his life since childhood, Samantha Silver, he learns that Samantha’s father Roy was <em> responsible </em> for the fire that killed his parents!”</p><p>“Damn. This show is crazy.” Jayce’s eyes were wide, but then crinkling with a smile when he exchanged a look with Hank, who shot his own smirk back to his friend.</p><p>“Right?! And that’s <em> before </em> we learn about the butler Patrick and his evil twin.” While talking, Mia had danced across the room, scooping a tortilla chip into Hank’s bowl of guac. </p><p>“You know, when I first met you, you were all cool and mysterious, but you’re actually goofy and weird.” Hank grinned as he teased Mia, whose blue eyes flashed at him.</p><p>“Goofy? Maybe. But at least I know how to have fun.” She gave him a wink as she bit into her chip and hummed an appreciative <em> ‘mmm’.  </em></p><p>“Hey hurry up and get over here! I’m starting the show!” Sophie’s tone was snappy, but her face was smiling. </p><p>“Yeah, and bring that guac.” Jayce pointed a finger toward Hank.</p><p>Hank rolled his eyes as he brought the bowl and bag of chips with him to his seat on the ground in front of the couch. “So you guys really like this show?”</p><p>“Oh god, no, it’s terrible.” Sophie answered quickly, absentmindedly reaching for a chip.</p><p>“It is.” Mia agreed. “But it’s fun to laugh at.” While a soothing piano tune sounded from the TV’s speakers and the opening credits began to roll, Mia impatiently tapped Hank on the knee. “Quit hogging all the guac.”</p><hr/><p>Nightwing couldn’t help but let out a “<em>Woooo!” </em> as he dove through the air from the top of the Ferris United Bank building. Dick knew his undercover work was far from over, but after preparing to slip back into ‘Rob Malone’, he was grateful for the opportunity to be Nightwing again. Especially since he also had to create Crystal Parker for Colleen.</p><p>Usually, when he needed fake identity credentials, it was as simple as making a call on the phone or commlink, or even just sending a text. But since he’d recovered from his amnesia, he’d been trying to wean himself off of bothering Bruce or Alfred for things like that. He knew how to do it, he could handle the extra work. <em> And I definitely wasn’t going to call Babs. </em></p><p>The bitter thought somehow snuck into his mind, piercing the joy he felt from swinging through the Bludhaven night. Dick stopped for a breather and leaned against a roof air conditioning unit, feeling his cheek muscles pull down into a grimace.</p><p>
  <em> “Good, Richard. Well done.” Though he’d been knocked onto the ground, William Cobb was not upset, instead displaying a warm smile. Ric’s chest filled with pride, and he returned the smile, helping his mentor off the ground. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “You’re everything I’d hoped you’d be. Better, even. You could be the greatest bird of all.” William pulled him into a warm embrace. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Robin! Get down!” Dick’s eyes widened behind his mask as he was thrust to the ground by Batman. The long flowing cape of his mentor draped over him, protecting him from the scorching heat released by Garfield Lynn’s flamethrower. “Stay. Here.”  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Batman’s growl through gritted teeth caused guilt to slither through Dick’s whole body. He’d screwed up again. Batman told him to wait, and he didn’t listen, nearly getting himself torched.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Help!” A weak voice called from behind him. He glanced briefly at Batman before rushing toward it. He knew he was told to stay, but he had to do something to help. He pushed away the pieces of rubble and grasped a hand that reached out of the pile of debris, pulling firmly but not too forcefully to hurt the trapped person. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> The familiar face of commissioner James Gordon rose from the rubble, and before Dick had a chance to ask what he was doing there, the world spun. He sat perched on a rainy rooftop. Commissioner Gordon was there, as was Batman. They were discussing something only a few feet away, but Dick couldn’t hear either of them. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “What? Speak up!” He asked, but his voice sounded muffled, strangled somehow. His hand absentmindedly reached up to scratch an uncomfortable itch on the side of his head. Despite his gloves, his fingers felt wet after scratching his head. He glanced down at his hand only to find it completely covered, even dripping with blood. The itch above his ear had flared into a burning sensation, which was growing more painful as the blood on his hand rippled across his arm and shoulder, beginning to cover his torso.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> The burning became too much, and Dick yelled to Batman for help, but neither he nor Gordon could hear him. Dick’s vision faded to a dark red, and he fell from his perch on the building, dropping helplessly through the air... </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “BATMAN!” Dick jolted awake, wrestling himself away from the firm grip he felt on his shoulders. He fell off his own bed, whipping his head around the room and gasping for air. In his darkened bedroom, Barbara Gordon’s green eyes were shiny, focused only on him.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Dick,” She clambered gracefully off the bed and tentatively embraced him again. “It’s okay. You’re okay.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He didn’t feel okay. He felt exhausted and sore, with every single one of his muscles tightly clenched. His fingers gingerly pressed onto the scar above his ear from his surgery, which he could almost still feel burning from the nightmare. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “I’m sorry, Babs.” He muttered, glaring down at the ground. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “No!” Barbara’s hand found his jaw, turning him steadily to meet her eyes. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for.” She kissed him forcefully on the forehead. Dick only looked back down to his right hand, clenched into a tight fist. “What was it? What happened? You can tell me.” </em>
</p><p><em> Dick sighed in defeat. “I… don’t want to talk about it.” He was sick of the nightmares. They’d been haunting him almost every night since he’d watched a building collapse on Rodger Duncan. Sometimes, he wouldn’t even be asleep, but his mind would be flooded with a mix of conflicting memories, Even though Dick </em> knew <em> which ones were true and false, re-experiencing them made him question himself. </em></p><p>
  <em> “Dick.” Barbara pleaded.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “I’m fine, Babs.” He stood up, suddenly needing to move.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “I don’t think you are.” She stood up with him. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Well I am. I’m going on patrol.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Do you really think that’s a good idea right now, Dick?” Dick stopped on his way to his suit and whirled around toward her. </em>
</p><p><em> “I’m not a kid, Barbara. I don’t need to be treated like one.” All the tension he’d felt upon waking from his nightmare was being released through his words. “How many times did I tell you not to put your mask on when you were still recovering from being </em> paralyzed <em> ? And how many times did you do it anyway?”  </em></p><p>
  <em> Dick hated himself for saying the words, but at the moment, his emotions were in charge. Barbara’s eyes stared into his, her lips and jaw tight with controlled emotion. “I love you, Dick. I want to be here for you and help you through this, but—” Her jaw quivered only slightly, and her forearm wiped her eyes quickly. “If you don’t want help, I’m not going to fight you anymore. I’m not going to be a casualty of you working yourself out.” Dick said nothing and glared at the ground. He could only see Barbara Gordon out of the corner of his eye as she gathered her things and closed his bedroom door behind her.  </em>
</p><p>“Nightwing.” A voice in his earpiece brought him out of his memory. </p><p>“I’m here, Commissioner.” </p><p>“There’s a skirmish between the Keyes and the Whalers at the Spine. My officers there could use your help.”</p><p>“On my way, Commish. Gee whiz, this sure is a better means of communication than the Bat Signal.” He could hear Colleen roll her eyes through the commlink.</p><p>“Just hurry up, Nightwing.”</p><hr/><p>Dr. Rebecca Joyce gazed at the vial in her hand. It had taken her most of a weekend, and several late nights that turned into early mornings over the past week, but she’d done it. Or, at least, she hoped she’d done it.</p><p>“This is it?” Adam Copperhead’s dark eyes were wide, and his voice was unusually breathy. Dr. Joyce took a bit of pride in the awed expression on his face, because at least from what she knew of Adam, he was a tough person to impress. “You did it?”</p><p>“We did it, really. WIth your data, I was able to reverse engineer Methylphenidate HCL. But I didn’t think that was enough, so I added a few other elements—artificial cortisol to help induce stress, obviously epinephrine, some other hormones. It will <em> definitely </em> stimulate the adrenal cortex. What exactly that means, well, we’ll see.” Dr. Joyce inserted a syringe into the vial, watching as the translucent blue liquid slowly transferred from one container to the other. “This is, of course, a more concentrated dosage than an all-day, extended-release pill.”</p><p>“Sure, sure. Mr. White. Are you ready?” Adam turned to the hulking man who stood quietly across the room. He said nothing, but nodded, and slowly approached, removing his gray t-shirt. Dr. Joyce gently inserted the needle into the pale skin on his enormous forearm. She pushed the plunger of the syringe, and the blue liquid surged into the vein.</p><p>At first, nothing happened. Adam inspected Mr. White’s body and face, shining a small light into his eyes. Then, instead of contracting at the sudden exposure to light, White’s pupils dilated. Unlike a normal dilation, White’s iris expanded as well, shifting from hazel to an electric blue color, and enveloping nearly all of his visible eyeball, leaving only slits of white on either side.</p><p>“Feeling anything, White?” Adam asked, tilting his head in curiosity.</p><p>“Yes.” The response was immediate. Before Adam had even finished the question. “I don’t… I don’t have the words to—”</p><p>“That’s okay, old friend. You don’t have to tell us, you can show us. Let’s run the physical tests.” Adam nodded, placing his hand on one of the broad shoulders of White.</p><p>Rebecca had estimated that the effects of the formula would last around an hour. Over the past several days, White had performed a number of physical tests. Several different strength-lifts, a reflex test, vision, hearing, speed, agility, and endurance tests. The tests were spread out over several days to ensure that White was able to put forth 100 percent of his physical effort. </p><p>In forty-five minutes, he’d performed every one of those tests again, and showed improvement on each one. He could lift more, run faster, move and react quicker, see and hear more efficiently. They weren’t huge improvements—nothing more than a five percent increase, but the impressive part was his endurance. At the moment, he had just finished running his third mile in 16 minutes, and he showed no shortness of breath. </p><p>“What do you think, Adam?” The large smile plastered on the dark-haired man’s face gave Rebecca an idea of his thoughts, but she was curious nonetheless. He turned to her.</p><p>“I am impressed. Very impressed. It will be interesting to see the blood work when the results come back.” He folded his arms across his chest. “I think you have just blazed a trail into a previously unexplored realm of science, Dr. Joyce.” His words caused pride to wash over her, for the first time since she’d finished graduate school. “Stimulants, steroids, whatever—some people call them unnatural. But <em> humans </em> are natural. Everything we do is as much a part of nature as any other animal. Allegedly, octopuses are intelligent enough to form a society like humans, but don’t do so because of apathy. Just because humans have conquered nature doesn’t mean that we don’t have a place in it.”</p><p>“And how do you envision this formula affecting humanity’s place in nature?” Adam chuckled at her question, causing Dr. Joyce to raise an intrigued eyebrow.</p><p>“Well I don’t know about you, but I’m hoping that <em> this </em> is just a prototype. Of course, it’s fantastic work, but I’m positive you’re capable of improving it.” Adam shrugged his shoulders. “I suppose I’ll look into finding some ways to test it on others aside from White. He’s obviously not an average human. And I believe we’ll need to do additional testing to see how brain activity is affected. I assume there’s more where that vial came from?” Rebecca quickly nodded. “Good.  As for my <em> vision… </em>We’re going to do what every scientist dreams of doing, Dr. Joyce. Make the world a better place. We’ll make people stronger. Make them evolve.”</p><hr/><p>“Alley-oop!” With his grapple hooked solidly onto the crane high above him, the momentum from Nightwing’s swing through the air easily transferred to the Keye’s family enforcer he kicked with both feet, sending him flying into another thug and crumpling both men. </p><p>In one smooth motion, Dick rolled out of his swing, taking cover behind a large, 12 passenger van. Bullets whizzed above him, not close to hitting him but serving as a gentle reminder to be careful. Dick gripped the van’s side mirror with one hand and clubbed it with his escrima stick, careful not to damage the glass, but freeing the mirror. Scooting across the ground to get a better angle, Dick found the source of the bullets in the glass’s reflection: the Chinese Restaurant across the street.</p><p>“Time for a field test.” Since Dick Grayson had fewer obligations as of late, Nightwing had more time to toy around with several new modified wingdings. He reached into the ‘<em>R &amp; D’ </em> pocket of his utility belt, and sorted through a handful of his personal brand of throwing star. He found the correct wingding and peeled off the sticker labeled ‘ <em> Disco-Wing’ </em> before lining up his shot in the mirror and hurling it behind him.</p><p>The choppy rhythm of gunfire was interrupted by a trill of high-pitched brass horns, and in the mirror’s reflection, Nightwing could see the rapid strobing of harsh blue, yellow, and white lights flood the inside of the restaurant. After doing some research with Tim on the effects of blue light on phone screens and computer monitors, they’d theorized that it might be useful to implement it into a flashbang. <em> Hopefully it’ll at least keep me from getting shot. </em></p><p>Dick vaulted over the van and tapped his mask as he sprinted across the road. He dove into the broken window of <em> Jasmine Palace </em>, springing off of his hands and kicking a disoriented goon in the back. “I don’t want to come off as too privileged here, but your restaurant etiquette is terrible.” The men in the room were still groaning in pain, eyes and ears not yet recovered from the Disco-Wing.</p><p>“And another thing!” Nightwing flipped over a table, dropping another man with a palm-strike to the throat. “I <em> like </em> this place!” He swiftly bounced to the next thug, catching him in a vise-like sleeper-hold. “Two more takeout orders and I can turn in my punch card for—” Dick noticed a man taking aim at him in the far corner of the room, and hurled an escrima stick his way “—a free beef and broccoli!” <em> Thunk-Crack! </em> The stick banked off the wall and into the back of the man’s head, crumpling him. </p><p>Nightwing glanced around the room. “Hmm. Thought I counted more guns than that… Ah.” The final Whalers thug’s attempt to run away was cut short by Dick gracefully springing off of his back and landing in his path. The off-balance man stumbled into Nightwing and fell backward onto the ground.</p><p>“Hey buddy. What’s your name?” Dick asked cheerfully. </p><p>“I—I ain’t tellin’ you shit.” The grounded man began to sit up, but Nightwing sighed and easily stopped him by resting a boot on the man’s chest.</p><p>“Look, man. I don’t want to put you in the hospital. Not because I’d feel that bad for hurting you, I mean, you were trying to shoot me.” Dick twirled a wingding between his fingers while he lectured. “I <em> would </em>feel bad that some poor doctor had to waste their night setting <em> your </em>broken fingers instead of someone who really deserves their attention.” He slowly began applying more pressure with his foot. “So, what’s your name?”</p><p>“Salvatore. People call me Sam.” The man’s breathing was shallow, and Dick relinquished just a small amount of pressure on his chest. </p><p>“Why are the Whalers working with the Roses, Sam? Where was ORE tonight?”</p><p>“Hey, I don’t know everything, alright, I do what I’m told.” Dick searched Sam’s eyes. They seemed fearful enough that he was likely being honest, but Nightwing couldn’t be satisfied with ‘I don’t know.’</p><p>“Why are you trying to take territory from the Keyes? Why now?” </p><p>“You can’t ask me <em> why </em> , man! I don’t know any of the <em> why! </em>” </p><p>“Take your best guess.”</p><p>“Why does any creature try to claim territory as its own, Nightwing?” Dick didn’t lift his foot off of Sam, but whipped his head toward the new voice. “It’s only natural.” Two men approached him, both clad in gray and black. </p><p>One of them reflected all of the city lights with his ivory skin. <em> Almost as big as Bane. </em>Dick wasn’t sure whether to take comfort in the thought. He couldn’t see the smaller man’s complexion, as his face was striped with red, orange and black paint. His outfit seemed to be entirely composed of pelts. “Life is a competition for resources, including shelter. Finding the best tree or cave, or in this case the best market for drug and weapons deals.” The man with the painted face shrugged.</p><p>“Look weirdo, I’m not interested in a monologue right now.” Nightwing stepped off of Sam’s chest, turning his full attention toward the two new men.</p><p>“Oh, my fault. Me neither. Trust me, I don’t want to be cliche, that’s why I tried to channel all of my monologue-ish thoughts into that video the other day.” The man waved his hand dismissively as Dick’s eyes widened behind his mask. “I’ll cut to the chase. My name is Apex. In case the video didn’t get the message across, I have a lot of respect for you.”</p><p>“Gee, thanks.” </p><p>“You’re welcome, seriously. You’re an impressive biological specimen—like I said, the top of the food chain. I mean, how many men did you just take out by yourself? They were armed with military grade weapons, and you with tools that I assume you created yourself. So it’s not just physical superiority. You outmaneuver and outsmart your prey as much as you overpower them. I—” Apex caught himself. “Ah, here I am geeking out again. Sorry. Anyway, I’m here to do a little experiment. Go ahead, White.”</p><p>For a moment, Dick could only stare as the world’s palest bodybuilder walked toward him without a word. His head swam in a cocktail of befuddlement and irritation. “This is ridiculous! I’m not going to—” As soon as Nightwing started talking, White closed the gap, faster than he’d anticipated. He’d expected a haymaker from the larger man, but White’s jab caught him off guard, glancing off his chest when he reflexively moved to avoid the punch. </p><p>Even when he was Robin, Dick had been told by Batman that he made the things he does look easy. Dodging, twisting, flipping, finessing his way to an opening, and taking his opponent down. Truthfully, it often <em> was </em> easy. The average Gotham or Bludhaven criminal had little physical training beyond a weightlifting routine, and very rarely had any formal combat training. Meanwhile, Dick had been raised by two of the world’s finest acrobats until he was nine years old, and then trained by <em> the Batman </em> after that. Like so many times before, he fell back on his training, using his agility to stay out of danger and create an opening.</p><p>And of course, banter. "So, the strong, silent type, eh? Me too."</p><p><em> Unlike </em> so many times before, it had been almost a minute, and the opening hadn’t appeared; Nightwing was still bobbing and weaving—playing defense. White wasn’t just larger than the average Bludhaven mugger, or the average bodyguard, enforcer, or bouncer, for that matter. </p><p>"That was a fib. I'm actually kind of a talker." <em>Keep talking. Stay lose.</em> </p><p>White didn’t just clumsily throw his weight around. His strikes came quickly, powerfully, and without sacrificing balance or positioning. Looking back, the strange costume and name of ‘Apex’ should have clued Dick in: he was <em> not </em> dealing with average criminals. Everything Apex had done screamed: <em>'Pay attention to me!'</em> A light bulb went off in Dick’s brain.</p><p>“So what’s your hypothesis in this <em> experiment? </em>” Dick didn’t have time to look at Apex as he took a quick step back to prevent White’s knee from hitting his thigh.</p><p>“I have a few, actually. Right now we’re testing how Nightwing performs against an opponent with physical advantages over him. I assume that doesn’t happen a lot.” </p><p>Dick kept weaving his way backward, knowing he was backing up against the twelve passenger van from before. “You’re right. It doesn’t happen a lot.” With his back nearly against the wall, Nightwing launched his first strike of the battle, twisting from a back-step into a spinning kick. </p><p>When he was Robin, Batman told him hundreds, possibly thousands of times that this particular kick would never work against an experienced combatant. It was telegraphed—<em>Too slow, Robin! </em> White caught Nightwing’s foot with two hands, then threw him backward into the van—just as Dick had hoped. </p><p>As he was thrown backward by his right leg, he jumped with his left, and twisted toward the van behind him. Nightwing carefully bent his knees to soften his feet’s collision with the side door, then fully extended them to leap off of the van and flip over White. As soon as he hit the ground, he uncurled and drove his escrima stick, as well as 50,000 volts of electricity, into the ribs of the larger man. </p><p>White’s enormous muscles repeatedly tensed and spasmed as he fell to his knees. Meanwhile, Dick turned to smirk at Apex. “But it’s happened enough.” Nightwing’s smirk shifted to a small frown. He’d delivered the line perfectly, but his audience had disappeared. A quiet alarm sounded somewhere from a small speaker. </p><p>“Oops! That’s me.” He whipped his head toward Apex, who stood across the street, in the shattered glass doorway of <em> Jasmine Palace. </em>Dick felt strange watching the man dressed in tribal garb whip out a cell phone and tap it to silence the alarm. “Time to test hypothesis two.”</p><p>“No. I’m done testing. And you are, too. I’m not really sure what this is about, but I have a theory. You make a creepy video tribute to me. You say I’m an ‘<em>impressive biological specimen </em>’.” Dick began stalking toward Apex, keeping his tone measured despite his irritation. </p><p>“For whatever reason, you like me a lot. Or more accurately, you like your own projected version of me. I guess I’m flattered. But dressing up and calling yourself a funny name is not an appropriate way to express it. Neither is sending gang thugs and Vitamin-D deficient muscle heads to attack me. Write a blog or something. Hell, draw some of that lewd superhero art I’ve heard about recently. I don’t care. You’re going to prison, and hopefully seeing a counselor who can help you learn to express your feelings more appropriately.”</p><p>Apex let out a genuine, human laugh, unlike the Joker or Dr. Light, which he cut off before too long. “No deal, Mr. Wing. First, I bet ‘<em>my projected version of you </em>’ is more accurate than you think.” With surprising speed, Apex yanked the man Dick interrogated before, Sam, in front of him, holding a long hunting knife against his throat. </p><p>“I’ve slit the throats of all sorts of animals, including humans. And if there’s one thing I know about Nightwing, it’s that he’ll do almost anything to save a life, even for someone who tried to shoot him just ten minutes ago. So, actually, you are <em>not </em> done testing.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I actually don’t know if Nightwing canonically has a utility belt. In the Pre-New 52 comic, he’s got some fancy gauntlets that shoot grappling hooks and probably hold other stuff. </p><p>In the Young Justice cartoon, he has a belt, but in the current comic (or back when Dick was Nightwing in the current book, grr) I don’t think he does, but he always seems to have enough of his brand of batarangs. Where do you keep those, Richard?</p><p>Another thing about batarangs though: at one point they were actual boomerangs, right? Now they’re more like shuriken or throwing stars? I have a lot of questions about bat-gadgets. They’re neat to write about though—I’ve always had a soft spot for themed tools, weapons, etc, even if they’re cheesy.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Let him go!” Dick shouted instinctively. When he’d interrogated Sam earlier, he’d seen hints of fear in his eyes. Now Sam’s eyes were filled with terror.</p><p>“Of course I will! <em> After </em> you and White help me with hypothesis number two.” Apex nodded vaguely behind Nightwing, who turned around to see White rising from the concrete. White’s large hands found a hole in his gray shirt, left by Nightwing’s electrified escrima sticks. The shirt ripped apart like tissue paper, but Dick had done that himself many times. </p><p>What concerned him was White’s eyes had gone from a normal white, hazel and black color scheme, to an inhuman electric blue with an overly dilated black pupil in their centers. Not to mention that the red splotchy skin from the earlier tasing was already fading to match the rest of his ivory torso. </p><p>“Look at that, White! It’s healing you! I didn’t even know it did that!” Apex chortled to himself behind Nightwing. With greater speed than he displayed before, White charged toward Dick. The former boy-wonder dove into a roll to dodge the hulking pale man while Apex continued to babble. “I feel like that guy who was trying to create medicine and ended up with soda. Or the inverse of him, I guess.”</p><p>White was able to track the roll with surprising speed, and Dick only just managed to avoid a haymaker.  Unlike before, White was acting more like common muscle from a Gotham or Bludhaven gang. Through reflex and muscle memory, Nightwing landed two quick blows to White’s abdomen while he was off balance from the missed swing. The larger man showed no signs of pain.</p><p>“See, I’ve been working on a stimulant, of sorts. That alarm meant that it was finally going into effect. It targets the adrenal cortex, enhancing primal instincts and physical attributes.” Dick heard Apex’s words but could barely process them, dropping to the ground to duck under an elbow and sweep White’s legs out from under him. “There’s still a long way to go, and I need to find a good name, of course. Let me know if you have any ideas.”</p><p>White fell to the concrete but managed to catch himself on his hands and knees, so Dick’s attempted follow up kick was blocked. Nightwing was thrown off balance and rolled away to regain his footing. Instantly, White was upon him again, swinging both fists together toward Dick, who sidestepped the attack. He was beginning to understand what he was up against. <em> He’s faster, but clumsier. Not as much technique. </em> </p><p>Dick fell back into his training. Weave, finesse, find an opening, strike. While he analyzed the enhanced White’s fast, powerful strikes, he gave himself lots of room, dodging via rolls, round offs, and hand springs. “Quit running away!” Apex demanded. “We won’t learn anything if you don’t fight back!” Dick rolled again.</p><p>"So if I'm not getting my head punched off its because I'm <em>'running away?'"</em> From his crouched position, Nightwing leaped up when White lunged down toward him, twisting to roll across the larger man's back. "Maybe your boy here is just dizzy because he forgot to take his medicine with food!" He delivered a powerful kick to White's kidney, and the giant staggered, but quickly resumed his assault.</p><p>Nightwing kept up his defensive front, slowly shrinking the gaps he left between himself and White. Finally, Dick correctly anticipated the elbow that followed White’s whiffed two handed club. He ducked and shoved his escrima stick into the exposed ribs below, administering 50,000 volts to the same spot he had a few minutes prior. Just as before, White collapsed to the ground. As he fell, police sirens and red and blue lights filled the air. Dick felt himself beginning to relax. It was over. </p><p>“Did you call the police? Ugggh. Come on, man.” Nightwing whirled toward Apex, glaring daggers toward the ridiculously dressed man. </p><p>“Test over. Let him go.” Dick could barely contain his rage. Sam wasn’t exactly an innocent man, but he didn’t deserve to be pulled into a hostage situation with a hunting knife to his throat. Whatever response Apex had planned was interrupted by Sam smashing his head backward into Apex’s painted nose. Sam began to stumble away but tripped, rolling onto his back on the concrete.</p><p>“Fuck you, Sam.” Apex spat, his voice a low growl. He flung his hunting knife at the downed man.</p><p>“No!” Nightwing shouted in desperation as he hurled his escrima stick into the knife's path. <em> Clang! </em> Relief washed over him as the knife and escrima stick collided, each ricocheting far away from Sam. </p><p>Apex’s eyes shone with fury, and Dick began stalking toward him, until he was hit by a white truck. <em> Wait, not a truck. </em> Somehow, 50,000 volts had only kept White down for a few seconds, and now Dick stared up into his crazed, hyper-dilated, black-blue eyes. Nightwing had been disoriented by the tackle, but he heard shouts from a few different voices as White reeled back his arm.</p><p>He wasn’t sure what to expect from the blow he was about to receive. He could very well be about to die. He’d known for a long time—that was sometimes just how it went. <em> POP. </em>A gunshot sounded just before White’s fist crashed into Dick’s chest. The wind rushed out of his mouth, leaving him to gag and cough while trying to suck down air. But the pressure of White’s body weight was gone, which helped.</p><p>“...wing! Nightwing! Are you okay?” Dick couldn’t answer, still sputtering, gasping and coughing. “Where’s the damn medical team?” </p><p>As his brain slowly regained oxygen, Nightwing’s vision became less blurry, and he saw Commissioner Colleen Edwards kneeling next to him. He uttered a groan as he tried to sit up. “Stay there, dummy! Medics are coming.” Colleen pushed him down with enough force to deter him from trying again.</p><p>“—’ll be okay…” He muttered weakly.</p><p>“Shut up, please.” The Commissioner's blue eyes seemed to be two parts anger, one part concern.</p><p>An EMT arrived on the other side of him. Dick was vaguely aware of her checking heartbeat and breathing, and shining a light in his eyes. She said something about “Concussed.” </p><p>Finally, he was able to draw in a deep enough breath, to say something. “I found our video-stalker, Commish.”</p>
<hr/><p>“Back to water, huh?” Mia’s blue eyes twinkled with mischief. Hank smiled and raised his glass before taking a sip and feeling the cool ice water quench his thirst.</p><p>“To be honest, it’s hard to keep up with y’all.” Hank Duncan glanced to the low stage across the room, lit only slightly better than the rest of the dark karaoke bar. A young woman was in the midst of a power ballad, and Hank wasn’t one to judge, but she was not exactly nailing it. “Plus, I’ve gotta stay hydrated in case I get pulled onstage for <em> another </em>surprise duet.”</p><p>Mia lightly punched his arm as she took a seat next to him at the table he’d found. “Oh come on, you had fun.” He turned back to Mia, his smile widening into a grin. </p><p>“I did.” He confessed. She’d not given him a choice earlier, yanking him out of the crowd to join her for her performance a few minutes ago. He silently thanked Jan Granger and her record player for teaching him the bouncy old show-tune. “You sounded great.” Mia had absolutely been the star of the show, and the fun she was having onstage spread to Hank as she led him in a dance while they sang—well, while <em> she </em>sang, and Hank did his best.</p><p>“It’s natural talent.” Mia performed a dramatic hair flip and winked. She poked a finger into Hank’s dimple, giggles bubbling out of her. “It’s about time you loosened up a little.” </p><p>He raised one eyebrow. “You’ve said that a few times now. I know we haven’t known each other very long, but I don’t know where you’re getting the idea that I’m like, uptight or whatever. I consider myself a pretty easy-going guy.”</p><p>“It’s not that you're uptight, it’s that you’re holding back. You have walls up. A lot of walls.” She tapped his hand as she spoke, then shrugged. “I don’t know why you think you need 'em.” Her words were so matter-of-fact.</p><p>“You seem awfully sure of yourself...” Hank trailed off as he glimpsed a strawberry-blonde young woman stumbling across the room, nearly tripping into a cluster of people. “Hey, uh, is Soph okay?” Mia’s blue eyes widened as she followed Hank’s gaze to her friend.</p><p>“Oh god. Okay I’ll go get her. You wanna find Jayce and we’ll get out of here?” She didn’t really wait for him to answer, and was already striding away.</p><p>“Hey Miiiaaa!” Hank chuckled at Sophie’s slurred words as he stood up and looked around for Jayce. Normally, Jayce’s tall, athletic build was easy to spot in a crowd, but he was nowhere to be found. Hank started back toward the restroom.</p><p>As he opened the bathroom door, Hank immediately felt something wrong with the atmosphere of the room. The large public restroom seemed empty save for two young men talking in hushed voices near the paper towel dispenser. </p><p>After a brief moment of awkward eye contact, Hank stumbled forward, careful to only <em> almost </em> run into them, and then into a stall, clumsily closing the door behind him. He did his best imitation of a muffled retching sound, then stayed quiet.</p><p>“I’m already at a bar, dude. I'll cut loose with beer.”</p><p>“It’s different than alcohol, man. It’s not a depressant. It’s a stimulant. Doesn't just cut you lose, it's more than that.” <em> These guys are terrible at whispering. </em> </p><p>“Whatever. I told you, I’m good for now.”</p><p>“Alright look, you don’t have to pay this time. A free trial. Here.” There was a moment of silence.</p><p>“Okay.” Another moment of silence occurred, and Hank made a louder retching sound, nervous that they were suspicious of him. Near the end of his wretch, he heard a door open and close, and he darted out of the stall. <em> What the hell was that? </em></p><p>Hank washed his hands and slowly walked out of the restroom, his mind cloudy. He was beginning to regret drinking the third coke and whiskey Jayce had got him. It would be a lot easier to make sense of what he just heard if his thoughts were less fuzzy.</p><p>“Hey, there you are! C’mon.” Jayce Campbell’s strong arm encircled Hank’s shoulders, and he pulled him back across the bar to the entrance where Mia and Sophie were waiting. “Look at us, Mia. Two babysitters.”</p><p>Hank rolled his eyes and removed Jayce’s arm from his shoulders. “I’m fine, man. I appreciate it though.”</p><p>“It’s pouring out there.” Jayce responded. “Better move fast if we don’t want to get caught in the rain.”</p><p>“What? Scared of getting wet?” Sophie poked a finger into Jayce’s chest, eliciting chuckles from the group before she clumsily stumbled out the door with surprising speed. Jayce, Hank, and Mia were still laughing as they gave chase to Sophie, but when they dashed into the rain they discovered the inebriated young woman had abruptly stopped.</p><p>The alleyway entrance to the bar was partially sheltered from the rain, but Hank could still feel heavy droplets pelt the top of his head as he followed Sophie’s brown eyes. A ways down the alley, two figures seemed to be wrestling in the shadows. Hank tensed, knowing exactly what he was witnessing. Even in the darkness, he’d seen it many times before.</p><p>“That’s a woman being mugged.” He kept his voice hushed, only loud enough for his friends to hear. </p><p>“I’ll call the police.” <em> They’ll be too late. </em> He could see Mia whip her phone out from the corner of his eye, but with the rest of his eyes he saw the larger figure, likely a man, waved a gun at the smaller figure, whose back was up against the rough brick alley wall. Hank instinctively stepped forward, but once again felt the powerful hand of Jayce on his shoulder.</p><p>“What are you doing, dude?”</p><p>Hank didn't have time to give his friend an answer. Or an apology. His hand shot to the pressure point in Jayce's wrist, squeezing just enough to free himself from his friend's grip. Hank released and broke into a sprint toward the mugger. <em>Come on, come on. Need something to throw.</em> Thankfully, the alley provided him with an empty beer bottle, laid on the ground next to a dumpster. Hank scooped up the bottle, gathered himself, and pitched it toward the mugger. The bottle glanced off the man's head, thankfully not shattering, and the man fell to the ground.</p><p>“He’s got a gun, Hank. Stay with us.” Hank blinked. Jayce still had a forceful grip on his shoulder. He hadn't moved. The mugger was now pointing his gun directly at the woman's forehead.</p><p>Hank began to act, whirling around to escape Jayce’s grasp, but something in each of his friends’ faces stopped him mid-spin. Eyes wide with shock, concern, fear. Hank suddenly realized how quickly his heart was beating, and how tightly he was squeezing his hand into fists. His breathing was ragged.</p><p>He looked back to the scene, and saw the mugger snatch something from the woman’s hand before fleeing. The woman laid on the ground for a moment. Hank's breath was caught in his chest.</p><p>“She’s okay, Hank.” Mia’s voice was soft. He turned back to her, and felt a stinging in his eyes. Hank hung his head, blinking hard to get the rain out of his eyes.</p><p>“Yeah. Yeah. She’s okay. Let’s go.”</p>
<hr/><p>As he gingerly pressed the ice pack onto the back of his head, Dick did his best to repress his body’s instinctive wince and shiver. He evidently didn’t do a good enough job, because the Bludhaven Police Commissioner chuckled quietly across the room.</p><p>“You’re laughing at me.”</p><p>“No, I was laughing at something else.”</p><p>“Oh yeah? Some good zingers in that case file?” Dick winced again as he stood up, his movements stiffened by the ice compression wrap around his chest. The previous night’s fight felt fresh in his mind, and maybe fresher in the rest of his body. <em> Ow. </em></p><p>“Still no clue why he calls himself ‘Shorts’, but Perry Miller caught the attention of the Roses in high school, when he became a delivery man for all sorts of ‘vendors’ in Meadowvale Mall. Since he attended Avalon Hill High, he became Meadowvale’s plug for the bored rich kids market.” Colleen strolled over to Dick and placed a yearbook photo of “Shorts” onto the corkboard, along with several other photos of ORE and Whalers members. </p><p>“What about the Whalers?” Dick questioned. “We have confirmation that they’re working with the Roses, but we have no idea what they’re up to.” </p><p>“Actually, I have a pair of eyes on the inside of Bludhaven’s oldest gang. And old informant—an old friend, really—of my dad’s...” Colleen trailed off for a moment. “Anyway, he told me that Michael Casey fled town a week or two ago. His right hand man, Quincy Hogan, stepped in for him.”</p><p>Dick’s eyes fell to Ray Douglas’s photo. “Not quite as recently, but Ray Douglas also just stepped in for the previous ORE boss this year.” </p><p>“Tyshawn Hopkins finally got his in January.” Colleen nodded. “Twenty years for money laundering, of all things. My informants say Ray’s leadership is universally respected by the Roses—always has been. No one questions who’s in charge.” Colleen glanced toward Dick expectantly. “But…”</p><p>“But, from what I remember of last night…” Dick placed a hand on his chin, glaring at the empty spot in the center of their spiderweb of photos, notes, and string. “I mean, it’s the only thing that makes sense. The Whalers and ORE all of a sudden start working together, stealing pharmacy supplies—”</p><p>“Plus seizing control of drug labs in the Narrows.” Colleen added.</p><p>“—And he said he made the video of me at Moore Square.” </p><p>“Then he just happens to show up to a Whalers territory skirmish.”</p><p>“Yeah. Apparently to test some new stimulant or steroid he made.” Dick frowned. “It feels off. So obvious. There’s not even a mystery to it, really. ‘Apex’ is trying to take over the Bludhaven underworld.”</p><p>“Are we sure he’s in charge?” Colleen sported a perplexed frown of her own. “You said he was focused on the drug. What if he’s just the science guy? The brains behind the new drug craze, but not the person giving the orders. And how would he take over not just one, but two gangs at once, by himself?”</p><p>“He wasn’t by himself last night.” Dick muttered, his jaw tight with irritation at the memory of his fight with Apex’s ‘associate’, White.</p><p>“True, but my money’s on Ray. Somehow, he ran Michael Casey out of town, and now the Whalers work for him. Apex is either a distraction, or Ray puts up with him because of the drug plan.”</p><p>“Maybe.” Dick’s mind drifted hazily back to last night. He conjured an image of Apex in his head, but it was dark and blurry, like an old photo taken without proper lighting. Dick had plenty more questions, but decided they’d have to wait until he wasn’t recovering from a concussion.</p><p>“Hmm. Would’ve been nice to have some of these back when I wore that.” Colleen used a wingding to gesture to one of the Nightwing suits on display across the room. His original Nightwing suit. The high collar and deep v-neckline had earned some light teasing from Wally, Donna and the other Titans, but he’d designed it in homage to the uniform of the Flying Graysons. </p><p>Dick’s face quirked, one eyebrow and one corner of his mouth rising with humor. “Your glock didn’t quite get the job done?”</p><p>“It did just fine, but it didn’t feel very <em> Nightwing </em>. It shoots bullets, not grappling hooks.”</p><p>“Well, sometimes if I’m out of <em> those, </em>” Dick chuckled as he pointed toward the wingding, then down to the pistol at Colleen’s hip. “I have to throw one of those.”</p><p>“Throwing a gun?” Colleen’s eyebrows arched high on her face.</p><p>“Don’t knock it ‘til you try it.” A comfortable moment of silence passed over the pair.</p><p>“It was a crazy few months.” Colleen’s eyes were back on the Nightwing uniform. “Sap was so sure that we were doing the right thing. So sure that the city needed Nightwing. Or Nightwing<em> s </em>. Hutch and I both had big enough chips on our shoulders to go along with him. And Zac was the only one of us smart enough to worry about our safety, but somehow he was in the hospital every other week.” </p><p>Colleen seemed fond of the memories, as her mouth was curled into a soft smile. Meanwhile, Dick’s chest felt heavy, weighed down by guilt in addition to the ice wrap. Alphonse Sapienza and Zac Edwards—Colleen’s brother, were both dead. Killed by William Cobb on his quest to turn Dick—Ric at the time—into a Talon like himself. Two more lives cut short because of Dick Grayson.</p><p>“Sap was right in the end. Bludhaven <em> does </em> need Nightwing.” Colleen’s blue eyes now met his own. “The real Nightwing. The one and only.”</p><p>Dick’s mind blurrily tried to piece together a response, but all he could think about at the moment was the image of Zac Edwards. Colleen had been forced to view her brother’s body, riddled with knives again only a few days ago in Moore Square.</p><p>“Col, I wanted to—” He was interrupted by stuttering vibrations across the workbench they leaned on. Both of his and Colleen’s ORE burner phones buzzed against the table, colliding into one another before Colleen snatched hers, and Dick grabbed his own brick phone. A text message from an unknown number filled the screen.</p><p>
  <em> Jackie’s </em>
</p><p>
  <em> 10:20 PM. Tonight. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Ask for a Blue Peach on the rocks. </em>
</p><p>“Well. They finally texted us.” Colleen mused. She flashed him her screen, which displayed the exact same message. Dick glanced at his watch. <em> 9:48 PM. </em>When he looked back up, Colleen was throwing his black jacket to him. “Jackie’s is across town in Mealtide. You coming?”</p>
<hr/><p>“You going?” Deep green eyes shifted to meet Jayce Campbell’s golden-brown eyes, which were narrowed in playful irritation. Henry Duncan glanced down to the cards in front of him. The queen of hearts, nine of clubs, and two checkered backsides.</p><p>“In or out, Duncan, hurry it up.” Mia’s voice prodded into his mind through his right ear.</p><p>“Uh, what are the rules again?” </p><p>On Mia’s right, Sophie huffed dramatically. “Stop stalling. What’re you, Counting cards?”</p><p>“No.” Hank lied, then gave up on finding the odds of his third card’s value being between a nine and a queen. “Okay, whatever, in. Inside.” </p><p>He flipped his third card, revealing the jack of diamonds and eliciting groans from his friends. “Wow, who woulda thunk? Looks like all the people who <em> rushed </em> me get two drinks.”</p><p>“Hi, Hank.” He felt a quick tap on his left shoulder. <em>Ah. </em><em>Vivian. From Philosophy. </em> Hank reminded himself to be polite and returned her smile. Her blonde curls bounced slightly as she offered him one of the small glasses in her hand. “Wanna take a shot with me?”</p><p>“Ah, thanks, but I, uh, I can’t. Bad gag reflex.” Hank heard Sophie and Jayce snort at his lame response.</p><p>“Really? I can’t relate.” The girl easily downed the contents of both shot glasses and winked as she turned away. “I hope we’re still on for our study session next week. I <em> really </em> need your help.” </p><p>“Uh yeah for sure.” Hank exhaled a long sigh and ran his hands through his hair, looking to his friends for help. “Any ideas on how to get out of that?”</p><p>“Tell her I have you on retainer as my Philo study-buddy.” Jayce’s voice rumbled with laughter. </p><p>“Maybe you should tell other men how annoying it is to be bothered over and over again about a <em> study session.</em>” Sophie offered dryly.</p><p>“I’ll do my best to spread the word, Soph.” Hank shook his head with a laugh. “Why me?”</p><p>Mia scoffed and lightly prodded a finger into his chest. “Oh, poor Hank Duncan. His life is so hard because girls think he's pretty.” Hank raised an eyebrow, but his phone buzzed on the table before he could respond. “Is that her? Gonna get some late night studying in?” </p><p><em> Scott Daniels </em> read across Hank’s phone screen. “Wouldn’t you like to know.” Hank shot Mia an eye roll and a smug smirk before weaving his way through the small, crowded house party to the backdoor. “Hey Scott.”</p><p>“How’s it goin’, kid?” Hearing his adoptive father’s voice always made Hank smile. “What’s that noise? You at a party?”</p><p>“Maybe. Who wants to know?” Hank closed the backdoor behind him.</p><p>“Me, obviously. And Jan. She’ll be glad to hear you aren’t spending your Friday night alone.”</p><p>“Gee thanks.” Hank scoffed. “Glad to hear you both have lots of faith in me to make friends.” </p><p>“Look, I’ve helped a lot of kids transition to college, and it can be really tough. It’s a lot of change at once.” Based on TV and movies, Hank was pretty sure that he was supposed to be annoyed with the excess concern of his father figure. But in truth, he felt lucky to have someone</p><p>“I’m good, Scott, seriously. I mean, you’re right. I got a head start on the whole ‘living by myself and taking care of myself’ thing, but lots of things <em> are </em>different now. New classes, obviously, and the new apartment.” Hank’s mind drifted, comparing the last two months to his life before his collegiate career began.</p><p>“Lots of small things, you know? The party I’m at, for one. I didn’t go to these in high school.” <em> My old nightlife was much crazier than anything I’ve seen at a party. </em></p><p>“Only working three days a week at the Union…” <em> Getting more than five hours of sleep every night… </em> “I’ve uh, changed up my morning workout routine.” <em> Less sparring with sticks and pointy things. </em></p><p>“Hanging out with Miles, which I love, and my other new friends.” <em> While my old friends are busy in other states and/or fighting crime. </em> “Oh! I did Karaoke last week.” <em> And stood and watched a woman get mugged. </em> Hank pushed the last thought away.</p><p>Scott chuckled softly over the line. “So are those good different? Bad different?” </p><p>“What do you mean?”</p><p>“Hank. I know you. Is something wrong?” Hank frowned, now feeling a bit more annoyed with Scott’s concern. </p><p>“I promise, I’m fine, Scott. Don’t you have enough to worry about with the wedding coming up? Don’t lose any sleep over me.” Tease, joke, play it off.</p><p>“Sorry, kid, but I’m never going to stop caring about you. And that means I’m not going to stop worrying about you.” </p><p>“Fine, fair enough. Hey I’ve gotta get back to my friends, give Jan my love okay? Bye.” Hank felt a pang of guilt for hanging up so quickly, he didn’t need to continue getting sappy while he was out with his friends. Plus, he was sick of Scott babying him.</p><p><em> Yeah, Scott, you know me. </em> Hank rolled his eyes. <em> You know I’ve gone through bigger life changing events than my freshman year of college. I’m fine. If anything, I’m bored— </em></p><p>“You still alive out here?” Mia had appeared behind him, briefly startling him. Hank quietly laughed to himself. <em> You’d think it would be harder to sneak up on me than that. </em></p><p>“Yeah, I’m good. Just chatting with an old friend.” </p><p>MIa looked unimpressed. “You’re doing it again.”</p><p>“Doing what?” </p><p>“Your walls. Put ‘em up as soon as you saw me.” A short laugh escaped Hank’s mouth, <em> hopefully that didn’t sound too bitter. </em></p><p>“I’m sorry, I really don’t understand.”</p><p>“<em>'</em><em>I’m good.’ </em> ” She made her voice a bit deeper, imitating his previous inflection. “<em>Are </em> you good, Hank?”</p><p>“I don’t—what’s happening?” Hank laughed again, throwing his hands in the air but keeping a light, humorous tone. “Am I in trouble? Is this about Vivian—the blonde girl?” Mia said nothing. </p><p>He tried again. “The phone call? The thing after karaoke?” She continued to scrutinize his face as if she was looking in a mirror, trying to decide if she liked the way her jeans looked on her. “What do you want me to say? </p><p>“I don’t <em> want </em>you to do anything.” Mia sighed, her eyes flashing, but not with irritation or anger. Hank still found himself surprised at how quickly his new group of friends had become close. That being said, his relationship to Mia was definitely different than that of Jayce or Sophie. The first time they talked to each other, Hank was embarrassed—she’d caught him halfway between daydreaming and staring at her—but she never seemed bothered by it. </p><p>They sat together in Marine Bio, studied together, did homework and lab work together. They joked and teased to make each other laugh. They’d definitely done some flirting with each other. <em> Hell, we sang a romantic duet together. </em></p><p>This wasn’t the first time Hank had this feeling, like Mia Beckett’s pale blue eyes were able to see straight through him, to his core. Several times now, she’d spoken as though she knew exactly what he was thinking and feeling, even if he didn’t. </p><p>In Hank’s vigilante training, Nightwing had informed him that psychics, mind readers, really did exist. <em> Don’t be dumb, Hank. Mia’s not </em>—</p><p>“I just think you’d be happier if you’d <em> let yourself </em> be happier.” Her expression had softened slightly. Hank offered her a small smile.</p><p>“Mia, trust me. I’m very happy. I’m happy that we came to this party. I was especially happy when you said I was pretty. I’ll be even happier when we go back inside so I can get another drink. And see our friends, I guess.” Hank still felt a bit confused about what Mia hoped for him to say, but she was smiling and rolling her eyes at him, so things seemed to be back to normal.</p><p>“Okay. Let’s get you another drink. On me.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Well that chapter ended up longer than most. Hopefully you made it through okay. </p><p>I'll be honest, my experience with drugs is very limited. I don't really know how any sort of 'deal' goes down or how people talk during one. </p><p>I do have some experience with alcohol, though. For any who are wondering: the drinking game played by Hank and his friends is called ‘Irish Poker’ (probably has a few other names, too). But I’m sure you all knew that, as this story is ‘Rated M for Mature’, and I'm sure no one would be reading above their age level.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“So to cap it all off, let me tell you a story…” Adam Copperhead gazed out into the crowd of students. “About a boy and his father. Specifically, me and my father. Between me being away at boarding school, and my father expanding one Copperhead Casino into an empire, we didn’t see each other as much as I would have liked, but he still managed to teach me many lessons. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Most of the time I spent with him was on hunting trips, and so that’s where most of his lessons came from. I’m sure many of you already know this, but this city was founded by hunters. They called it Bludhaven because of the blood they left in the waters when they hunted </span>
  <em>
    <span>whales</span>
  </em>
  <span>. The biggest creature on the planet.” He shot a wry grin to the front row. “Well, up here y’all might hunt whales, but in Oklahoma, we had to settle for deer.” A murmur of chortling passed over the crowd.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dad knew that to be a good hunter, you have to be prepared—do your homework, figure out where the buck is going to be, when he’ll be there. You have to be disciplined—keep your aim sharp enough to hit your target, and be patient enough to wait for the right moment. And above all else, you have to </span>
  <em>
    <span>trust </span>
  </em>
  <span>yourself. Trust that all the work and waiting you’ve done, when you finally take the shot, you’ll hit it.” Adam gave a moment of pause for effect. “Like I said, I didn’t see my father much growing up, and on top of that, he passed away when I was a few years younger than all of you.” Another dramatic pause. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But, when I </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> with him, on all those hunting trips, he managed to teach me enough to get by without him, once he was gone. His lessons weren’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>only</span>
  </em>
  <span> about hunting. I use them every day in my professional life. I keep myself prepared, do my research. I stay disciplined, always trying to improve. And I trust myself to take risks. Do I hit every shot I take?” Adam laughed to himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No. Not even close.” The crowd joined in on his quiet laughter. “But when it’s crunch time, time to make a tough decision, I’m never held back by being afraid to fail. Thank you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He gave a smile and a wave as he stepped away from the podium, and off the stage. The Bludhaven Community College Auditorium was filled with polite applause, but Adam was already on to other matters. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whatcha got for me, Doc?” As soon as the auditorium door closed behind him, he was on the phone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Results are… sporadic. Each subject has undergone similar effects, but in vastly different proportions. It’s tough to determine what causes some to have greater results than others. I think if we tested the original formula—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No. I don’t want us to get stuck testing the same thing over and over again. We keep moving forward. Thank you, White.” Adam nodded to his driver before the larger man shut his car door for him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“In that case,” Dr. Joyce began, her voice wavering with some amount of anxiety. “I </span>
  <em>
    <span>had</span>
  </em>
  <span> actually been developing an alternate strain.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm. I appreciate you taking initiative, but I’d like us to focus on our primary goal.” Adam kept his own tone measured.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I totally understand, but think about this from a business perspective: We develop an alternate product to try and draw in more consumers, or in this case test subjects. Imagine how much faster we’d make progress if instead of searching through the Zee Moores and the Narrows for volunteers, we targeted the people right outside the lab.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You mean BCC students?” His interest was piqued. “How would we draw them in?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was kicking around some ideas for enhancing </span>
  <em>
    <span>other </span>
  </em>
  <span>survival instincts.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What kind of </span>
  <em>
    <span>other </span>
  </em>
  <span>survival instincts?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dr. Joyce laughed quietly over the phone. “They’re college kids, Adam. They’re in the prime age group for a universal biological need.”</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <em>
    <span>Focus, Robin!</span>
  </em>
  <span> Though his mind still felt hazy, Batman’s voice was perfectly clear in Dick’s head as his body hit the top of the elevated train, just nearly avoiding being cut in half by the tunnel entrance. As much as he hated to admit it, Batman was right. He’d hitched a ride on the Red Line North hundreds of times since he’d moved to Bludhaven. He knew the tunnel was coming, but barely reacted in time. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Cut yourself a little slack, Grayson. </span>
  </em>
  <span>To be fair, he was still recovering from a concussion being dosed with some sort of narcotic. He and Colleen’s trip to Jackie’s bar in Mealtide had been, as Dick expected, an initiation ceremony for the Orange Roses East. He did </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>expect the drinks they were told to order would be laced with Rohypnol, nor the pageantry of the ceremony itself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead of some sort of trial by combat, Colleen, Dray, and Dick had simply woken up in a dark room, listened to Ray speak some words about family and brotherhood, and took turns pricking their fingers on the thorns of an orange rose. It was a little cheesy, but Dick had always been a little cheesy himself. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Focus, Robin,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Batman chided him again, pulling him from memory lane. As the train emerged back into the city lights, Dick sat up from his prone position, a dark bout of humor passing through his mind.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Almost wound up going into the light of a different tunnel.</span>
  </em>
  <span> The cynical quip was replaced by more scoldings from Batman—were they actual memories? Or was his imagination giving him simulated Bat-lessons? </span>
  <em>
    <span>They always blend together these days. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Dick shook his head, briefly smiling to himself as he leaped off the train. He’d reached his stop.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Grace Balin, known on Bludhaven’s streets as Orca, had recently set up a laboratory underneath the abandoned Central Station Rail. Nightwing had plenty of history with Orca—most of it being messy. He’d been keeping tabs on her, and confronted her about the lab the first night after she’d moved in, and now he needed to visit her again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What can I do for you, Mr. Wing?” Grace didn’t look up from her work as Dick descended the stairs. “Still feeling suspicious of me?” Dick frowned. He didn’t know exactly how to answer that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I trust you, Grace.” He stalled. When they last spoke, Grace told him that she was done being superhuman muscle for hire, and she just wanted to use the Rail Station to stay out of the judging eyes of the public. “How’s everything coming along?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This time, Grace was willing to look up from her work, and down at him. “Well, I’m still a giant monster, so it could be better.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Grace…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry. That was supposed to be a joke.” She shifted her focus back to her custom-sized microscope. “It’s going okay. Slowly, I guess. I’m trying to focus on the little progress I’ve made—and not all the research that points to never being able to undo… this.” With one hand, she gestured to her own body, easily over seven feet tall. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dick sighed, searching for a way to express his sympathy. “I know what you mean. About focusing on the positive, at least… Listen, do you know of any animals that would be able to shake off a standard taser?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Grace threw him a curious glance, with an undertone of suspicion. “Sure. Lots. Why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How about a man who paints his face and calls himself ‘Apex’?” Grace’s silence invited him to continue. “I ran into him and a friend of his the other day. He’d dosed his friend with some kind of drug that helped him get back up after 50,000 volts, no problem. Twice.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why are you coming to </span>
  <em>
    <span>me</span>
  </em>
  <span> about this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re a brilliant scientist, Grace. And, well, Apex seems to have watched one too many nature documentaries. He kept making comparisons to animals—he described me as an apex predator who hunts criminals.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So because he’s got some sort of wildlife fetish, you assumed I’d be working with him?” Grace’s already deep voice became lower with irritation. Dick showed his palms in surrender.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I thought you were uniquely qualified to help me stop him.” He fished out a photo of Lane Vonn’s body, handing it to Grace. “He’s killing people, Grace. I think he’s somehow taken over the Whalers and Orange Roses East.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“These are bite marks.” Her eyes widened as she examined the photo.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nodded. “Too big to be a police dog’s.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wolves.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know your specialty is marine biology, but I think whatever drug Apex is creating, it has something to do with bio-medicine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you have a sample of this drug?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dick shook his head. “Not yet. But when I do, you’ll help?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll do what I can.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you, Grace.”</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <em>
    <span>Bzzzzt! Bzz</span>
  </em>
  <span>—</span>
  <em>
    <span>bzz</span>
  </em>
  <span>—</span>
  <em>
    <span>bzzzzzt!</span>
  </em>
  <span> Hank still wasn’t used to having a doorbell. He exhaled a heavy sigh. “Alright, well, she’s here. Gotta go, Tim. Wish me luck.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re such a baby.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks man.” Rolling his eyes, he hung up the phone, and glanced at himself in the mirror. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Hopefully all this is enough to protect me. </span>
  </em>
  <span>A ratty old Gotham Knights tee-shirt, coffee-stained sweatpants, and his unshaven blonde whiskers were all supposed to serve as his armor for that evening.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, Viv, come on in.” He smiled politely as he opened his door. “Just so you know, I’ve got a thing at nine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure, no problem, but I get your </span>
  <em>
    <span>undivided attention</span>
  </em>
  <span> until then.” Vivian winked as she entered his apartment. So far, Operation ‘Study-NOT-Date’ was going smoothly. He set a cut off time, and did his best to make himself as unappealing as possible. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>This is ridiculous.</span>
  </em>
  <span> One voice in Hank’s head chastised him. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You could have just canceled on her. Or told her you’re not interested.</span>
  </em>
  <span> The voice made some good points, but Hank still had the desire to be helpful, and didn’t want to hurt any feelings. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So where do you want to start?” Hank pushed the voice away, trying to start the studying as soon as possible.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well first, I’m making us a drink.” Vivian was fishing things out of her backpack, none of which were school supplies. Hank groaned internally.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, well, like I said I have a thing, later, so I’ll pass.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No! You have to at least </span>
  <em>
    <span>try </span>
  </em>
  <span>it. I came up with it myself, and it’s sooo good! Please?” She shot him a kind smile. Hank checked his watch. </span>
  <em>
    <span>8:10 PM</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Only fifty minutes left. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Easier not to argue.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, I’ll try it.” He quickly got his textbook out, taking a seat on his couch. “Is it cool if we start with chapter twelve?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where are your glasses?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cupboard to the right of the sink.” Hank sighed. “Chapter twelve? Vivian? Does that work?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whatever you want, babe.” Her sing-songy tone induced another internal groan from Hank. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, the main point of this chapter is explaining the principle of beneficence, right?” He glanced up from his book to Vivian, who was strolling over to hand him a fizzy caramel cola drink. The glass she kept for herself was already half empty.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The obligation to bring about good in all our actions.” She sat down next to him, winking as she took a sip from her drink.  He was thankful for the few feet of distance between them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right. Take positive steps to prevent harm, but taking those steps sometimes conflicts with chapter eleven’s principle—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure, respecting the autonomy of others. Preventing someone from causing harm interferes with their autonomy.” Vivian waved her hand dismissively. “Try your drink.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm.” Hank narrowed his eyes. “Seems like you have a solid handle on eleven and twelve.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hank. Drink.” A brilliant white smile remained permanently on her face. He rolled his eyes and took a sip, tasting a mix of caramel cola with a sickly sweet aftertaste. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is this just rum and coke?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course not. It has a special ingredient with it. Helps me study.” Her hazel eyes flashed mischievously.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hank glanced to his island, seeing only cola and a bottle of rum sitting on it. He rolled his eyes again, chuckling slightly. “Whatever you say, Viv.” He took another small sip and set his drink down. “So anyway, let’s move on to chapter 14.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nonmaleficence.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And what’s that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A combination of a few different things. Do no harm, but sometimes harm can’t be avoided, so that becomes ‘minimize harm’.” Vivian took an aggressive swig, finishing her drink and looking expectantly at Hank. “You’re slow.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You forgot the other corollary principles. Don’t increase risk—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t increase risk of harm to others, and it’s fundamentally wrong to waste resources that could be used for good. So basically, if you have the ability to do good, you’re obligated to do good.” She gave a sweet smile, hazel eyes continuing to shift from Hank’s eyes to his drink.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He folded his arms and leaned back against the couch. “So what </span>
  <em>
    <span>did</span>
  </em>
  <span> you need help with, Vivian? Because you seem to get the material just fine.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you not like the drink? I know a good guy like you wouldn’t waste a resource that could be used for good.” As inched closer to him on the couch, Vivian’s eyes acquired a hungry look, her pupils dilating slightly. He stood up as her hand touched his shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How about I get you a refill?” Hank didn’t wait for an answer, snatching her glass and pacing to his kitchen. Despite his offer, he ignored the supplies on his island, instead following a hunch and searching through her backpack. “Did you put these in the drinks? Is this the secret ingredient?” He glared at an unlabeled pill bottle, but before he could continue his confrontation, Vivian’s hands pressed into his chest, and her lips attacked his. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d experienced plenty of surprise kisses, but this was a different story. “Stop.” His mouth couldn’t fully form the word. He tried to stay gentle as he gripped her shoulders to push her backward. “Vivian.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t worry, baby, it’s not dangerous. It just makes sex feel amazing.” Hank was baffled as the young woman tried again to kiss him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey. Stop. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Stop.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” The edge in his voice sharpened, and he forcefully extended his arms, pushing her into the counter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oooh.” Vivian’s giggles only made him grit his teeth harder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Vivian. I’m not interested in this. This is not me playing hard to get. I have no desire to kiss you, or anything beyond kissing you. Do not try to kiss me again.” Hank glowered into her hazel eyes, which had shifted from hunger to anger of their own. “Tell me where you got these pills.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you, a cop?” Vivian slapped his hands away from her. “Let go of me! I don’t have to tell you anything.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We </span>
  <em>
    <span>just</span>
  </em>
  <span> got done talking about ethics!” He snapped back at her, but she was already pacing away from him. “Weird date rape pills are definitely </span>
  <em>
    <span>harmful</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Where did you get them?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t have to tell you anything.” She repeated. Vivian angrily filled her backpack with her drink mixing supplies. “What’s your plan, anyway? Make a citizen’s arrest? Call campus security?” She reached for the pill bottle, which Hank snatched away from her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Absolutely not.” Vivian flipped him the bird and strode out of his apartment. Hank inspected the two pills in the bottle. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Why didn’t you stop her?</span>
  </em>
  <span> The voice in the back of his head had returned. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You’re wasting resources that could be used for good.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He was unable to offer an argument aside from: “Shut up.”</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>“Therefore, it should be apparent to the jury that, without a reasonable doubt, Sienna Dorsey murdered her husband Terrence in cold blood. The prosecution rests, your honor.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sienna hung her head, unable to look at anything aside from the desk in front of her. Her attorney had been doing her best, but she was young--appointed by the state of New Jersey. Sienna would be spending the rest of her life inside a general population cell in Lockhaven. She gently touched the bruises on her wrists and neck, awaiting her attorney’s last plea for her innocence, but before the defense’s final arguments could begin, a series of gunshots rang out from elsewhere in the courthouse. The crowd in the courtroom erupted into a murmur, which was quickly silenced by another series of gunshots, this time coming from within the room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All rise for the honorable judge Apex.” Suddenly, a strangely-dressed man with orange and black face paint had emerged from the courtroom doors. A large pale man stood behind him, guarding the doors. People didn’t stand as he asked, but were effectively stunned into confused silence. “Hmm. No? Not going to rise? Well that’s fine, I suppose. I’m not a judge anyway. But this man isn’t either!” The strange man pointed a leather-gloved finger at the judge sitting at the head of the room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, at least he shouldn’t be. Brent Karney. A regular at multiple strip clubs, and known to frequently use at least three different escort services around town—that I know of.” ‘Apex’ had made his way across the courtroom floor, standing in front of the jury. He spun on his heel and his dark eyes met Sienna’s. “Sienna Dorsey. You’re accused of murder, but we all know that you only hit your husband in self defense. And how could anyone expect anything different from a nationally ranked kick-boxer? Ah—one moment.” The man put a mask of some sort over his painted face, and suddenly a cloud of electric blue gas exploded throughout the room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Almost everyone in the room went into a short coughing fit. Sienna stopped coughing when she realized the gas was odorless, tasteless. Just like breathing air. After the coughing, the crowd returned to murmuring, and Apex approached Sienna. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sienna, I am so sorry that this corrupt, sexist pig has made your life hell. You’re supposed to get a fair trial, and this is anything but. I’m here to even the odds a bit. In the past, before courtrooms and juries, trials by combat were a popular choice for settling disputes.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sienna watched wide eyed, unable to find words to respond to the man. He stepped aside, and the large pale man appeared behind him, carrying Judge Karney over his shoulder like he weighed nothing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sienna.” Apex took her hand. “I know you’re innocent. The whole courtroom</span>
  <em>
    <span> should</span>
  </em>
  <span> know that, but Brent, here, has rejected all appeals and objections made by your attorney, and allowed the prosecution to do whatever they please. I want to give you the chance to take things into your own hands.” The murmur of the crowd had grown into a roar, and Sienna glanced around, seeing all sorts of people shouting at one another, or even attacking each other. She felt a surge of adrenaline.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How?” She asked. Every muscle she had tensed up, ready to spring into action. Her heart pounded in her chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Trial by combat. You and Judge Karney here. I’m sure he’s willing to agree.” The judge didn’t look his normal, lethargic self. The short, plump man was struggling against the grip of the pale giant, his eyes wild. The judge’s eyes focused directly on her with some sort of animalistic fury. Sienna felt herself step forward.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A fair trial.” She muttered. “Trial by combat.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The room had transformed into complete chaos, but she didn’t care. The only thing Sienna could think about was the sad little man in front of her, and how he wasn’t scared of her. Yet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A brilliant white smile flashed across Apex’s face, in sharp contrast from the orange, red, and black paint. “We’ll make sure your trial is not interrupted.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I worry that I'm starting to lose my drive to continue writing this story. I think I need to just push through the next chapter or two and then things will get easier, but I dunno. Hope y'all are enjoying it. </p><p>Part of it is that my attention is divided--I have less free time than I used to, and I have another story bouncing around in my head, sort of a spin-off series almost. Maybe I'll try to write a chapter or two of that story and see if it kindles any inspiration for this one. </p><p>Thanks for allowing me to vent, dear reader, and thanks for reading!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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